Back Together
by jansonpls
Summary: Uh oh. Wedge ain't gonna handle this well at all. Sequel to Codenames and Dances, KJ, JgT, WesHobbie (non-slash)
1. Back Together

**Title:** Back Together (1 of 6)   
**Author:** djcati   
**Fandom:** Star Wars post-NJO   
**Characters:** Wes, Hobbie, Kyp, Jaina   
**Summary:** Wes and Hobbie are, after five years of fighting separately in the war, back together...? Hands up everyone who feels sorry for Wedge.   
**Rating:** PG   
**Notes:** OK. This was originally a standalone sequel vig to Codenames and Dances, and my first attempt ever at writing Hobbie, back in September 04. It multiplied the way plot bunnies do, and grew into a longer story that taught me, 'hello, you can write humour better than angst _or_ romance, kthx'. Maybe I've written better since then, but I'm still quite proud of this whole story... ; (Though I have to say, I'm surprised I got away with so much subtext on TFN...)   
**Words:** 2441

* * *

Derek Klivian - Hobbie to his friends, and friends' friends, and a fair few enemies, too - rounded the corner to the pilots' lounge sector, paused mid-step, and then continued backwards as if he had intended to do so all along. 

"Hobbie!" a voice hissed from the corridor he had almost walked down, and Hobbie winced. "Hobbie, get over here!" 

Hobbie took a deep breath and brushed down his clothes, as if it would help him prepare for what he knew he was about to face. Grimacing determinedly, he stepped round the corner again, walked forwards a few metres, then stopped a safe distance away from the entrance to the small, secondary pilots' lounge. 

"No, I mean _here_!" the voice insisted, in the same, quiet hiss. 

Hobbie hesitated, taking a moment to study the scene before him. Wes Janson was not-quite-standing - crouching, really - in the middle of the corridor, an ear against the door to the lounge. That was all there was to it, all Hobbie could see, and he was sure he didn't really want to know _why_ Wes was like this, but equally sure he was about to find out. Reluctantly accepting his fate, he walked the rest of the distance and stopped right in front of his friend. "What is it, Wes?" he asked in a resigned tone of voice. 

Not moving his head away from its position by the door, Wes reached up and pulled Hobbie down so their heads were level. "Ssh! And listen!" 

Hobbie blinked, turned his head to glance round the corridor, and then looked back at Wes. "To what?" 

Wes stabbed a finger at the door and, dutifully, Hobbie leaned in closer and pressed his own ear against the durasteel surface. Despite the thickness of the door, and its generally air-tight qualities, there was indeed a faint _thumping_ to be heard; a regular rhythm, accompanied by light tones as if from a cantina band's instruments - albeit a low grade of cantina band. 

"It's music, Wes," Hobbie told him, sighing and moving to stand up. 

"Exactly!" Wes pulled Hobbie down again and met his gaze triumphantly. "Music! In the pilots' lounge!" 

Hobbie frowned thoughtfully, trying to think of a reason for this to be unusual. "Wes, I don't think I'm getting this. Explain it to me." 

"The pilots' lounge, Hobbie!" 

"Yes." 

"The _small_ pilots' lounge!" 

The adjective was relative; the lounge, though it was indeed the smaller of the two in this sector, was at least half the size of the mess hall. "...Yes," Hobbie replied blankly. 

"_The small lounge has no music system!_" 

Hobbie blinked again, glanced at the door, and back at Wes. "Brilliant, Janson. You didn't apply for a position in Intel, did you? After the Wraiths? I'm sure they could use someone like you again now." Hobbie rolled his eyes. "The lounge obviously has a music system, because otherwise, _why_ would we be hearing music from it?" _Unless we're both hallucinating,_ he added silently, _though the coincidence would be scary._

"No, it doesn't!" Wes replied, still hissing in an excited tone. The grin on his face was still triumphant, and it made Hobbie wary. "It does now, but it _didn't_, which means someone installed it for a specific purpose!" 

"I'm serious about that job in Intel; I'll speak to Iella on your behalf, if you want." 

"And," Wes continued, obviously deciding to ignore Hobbie's sarcastic interruption, "we need to find out what that purpose is!" 

"Which is why you're sitting here listening to some poor quality music through a durasteel door, I guess?" 

"Yes!" Wes paused for a moment, concentrating on what he could hear through the door, and then his grin turned into a thoughtful frown. "It's stopped." 

"Oh, good," Hobbie said, and moved to stand up. He was quickly pulled back down by Wes. 

"Now someone's talking. It's..." Wes concentrated again, still frowning thoughtfully. "Durron and Solo." 

"Oh, scandal." Hobbie couldn't move to stand up this time, as Wes had kept a hand on his shoulder. "Are you done playing detective yet?" 

Suddenly, Wes stood up, and Hobbie overbalanced, falling face-first into the floor. He scrambled to his feet as Wes set off down the corridor, hurriedly catching up with him as he turned left at the next corner. "Wes? What are you doing _now_?" 

"Got to find... a control room." 

"A control room." 

Wes nodded, stopping suddenly outside a door with a hand-written sign reading 'Spec. Ops - keep out'. Hobbie almost fell over him, grabbing on to Wes' shoulder to avoid falling to the floor again. Wes turned to face him, the triumphant grin back on his face. "Got it!" he hissed. 

Hobbie closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them again. He was still standing outside a provisional 'Spec. Ops' room, in front of Wes Janson, about to follow him into yet more idiotic trouble, he was sure of it. "What, exactly, have you _got_?" 

Wes was now studying the flimsiplast sign carefully, as if for hidden clues, though it was fairly evident that the big black lettering was all there was to it. "Durron and Solo didn't put that music on; someone _outside_ the room is controlling it." 

Hobbie stared at him incredulously. "How do you know that?" 

"Ssh, don't interrupt me, I'm in the Intel zone. From what they were saying." Wes was still studying the sign. "Which means, if someone's controlling it from somewhere else, and the system was set up recently, it must be fairly close." 

"But-" 

"And the cables trailing along the corridor were a pretty good clue, too." 

Hobbie glanced down and, for the first time, noticed the black wires poking out from under the door to the 'Spec. Ops' room. They were tucked in against the corner between the wall and the floor, but weren't hidden otherwise, and they clearly led to the room from the lounge round the corner. "Ah, yes, I noticed those too. Of course." 

"So our guilty party," Wes continued, the grin spreading across his face yet again, "is in here." He knocked on the door to indicate it, realised his error and, to cover for it, quickly keyed the door open and stormed in. 

Hobbie stood in the doorway warily, glancing round the room. Indeed, the evidence was fairly conclusive. There was a big holoscreen showing a picture of the smaller lounge, focusing on a couple in the centre of the room, who were... Hobbie stared at the screen for a moment. "Wes, I thought you said it was Kyp Durron and Jaina Solo?" 

Wes turned round again, drawing Hobbie's attention away from the screen and towards the centre of the room they were actually in. "Yes," he hissed triumphantly, realising a moment later that the need for secrecy was gone. "It is," he continued in a louder voice, "but even better, look who the culprits are." 

Sighing, Hobbie looked past Wes and at the area by the control desk. He studied the two people standing there - Jagged Fel and Tahiri Veila, both looking rather sheepish - with disinterest, and turned back to Wes. "Uh huh." 

"Guess what they were doing!" 

"I don't particularly want to-" 

"_Kissing!_" 

It was moments like this that really caused Hobbie to compare Wes to a twelve-year-old child. But then, that was a little unfair - the child would probably be less embarrassingly enthusiastic about the whole affair. "Oh no, oh Wes, what terrible scandal you have revealed today," he said in a monotone, rolling his eyes. "Quick, let's find a holoreporter." 

"Don't you _see_, Hobbie?" 

"No, I'm afraid I don't." Hobbie paused, then narrowed his eyes at Wes. "This is just because you didn't want someone to pull a better prank than you, isn't it? That's why you had to find them." 

"Um," someone said, and Hobbie looked up to see Tahiri waving a hand vaguely to get attention. "Can I say something?" 

"Why not?" Hobbie shrugged. "I'm getting tired of Wes' voice, anyway." 

"We weren't playing a prank," she continued. "We were matchmaking." 

"But it was her idea," Jag added. "I had nothing to do with it." 

"Apart from setting up the camera, and the sound system, and making sure Rogue and Goddess were alone in the room, and-" 

"OK, OK, maybe I had _something_ to do with it." 

Hobbie nodded sympathetically and glanced at the holoscreen. Durron and Solo were still in the middle of the room, kissing; they obviously hadn't noticed the camera yet. "This is fascinating, and it has always been my dream to get involved in kids' romantic meddlings. Now that that objective has been fulfilled, I think I'll take Wes away to drug his caf and stop him being annoying for the rest of the day." 

Wes had moved away from the centre of the room and was now stood over the control desk, leaning round Tahiri to look at the system. "Wait, Hobbie. Just think what we could do with this!" 

"No, thanks." 

Ignoring him again, Wes selected a disc from the stand by the sound system and inserted it into the player. He pushed a button and, after a second's expectant pause, a loud, upbeat, fast song bounced its way out of the speakers and filled the room. Grinning, he turned up the volume. 

Hobbie looked up at the screen as the sound played through the pilots' lounge, too. The couple in the room had been distracted from their previous activity by the music, and were looking round the room, frowning. Suddenly, Durron looked up and noticed the holocam in the corner of the room, and his shocked expression turned to amusment, then annoyance, and then the image was gone, faded into static. 

Slowly, all four occupants of the 'Spec. Ops' room turned to stare at each other. A long moment passed and then, with silent agreement, they all simultaneously bolted for the door. Somehow, both Wes and Hobbie found themselves being pushed aside by Jag and Tahiri, who reached it first and pulled it open, running down the corridor opposite the lounge area. Wes grabbed Hobbie's wrist to stop him mid-fall, and dragged him out behind the other two, who were already at the other end of the corridor, turning the corner. 

But suddenly, the empty space the two of them had expected to encounter in the middle of the corridor was gone, replaced by the decidedly more solid form of Kyp Durron. Quickly, Wes dragged Hobbie round to face the other direction, almost overbalancing both of them - but this was futile too, since the other side of the corridor was blocked by Jaina Solo. 

"Wes and Hobbie," Jaina said slowly, no trace of amusement in her tone or expression - bar the odd twitch in the corner of her mouth. _Which could just as easily be anger,_ thought Hobbie. 

Letting go of Hobbie's wrist, Wes stood to attention and snapped off a salute. "That's us, Colonel Solo. Looking for us for any reason in particular?" 

Behind them, Durron snorted, and Hobbie glanced round at him. He glared back, then winked, quickly glaring again as Jaina looked up. Hobbie frowned and looked sideways at Wes, who nudged him. "Salute," he hissed. 

The twitch was definitely amusement, Hobbie decided, as Jaina's glare faltered at Wes' command. "Indeed, Janson. Just want to know what you were doing in there," she said, indicating the open door to the side. 

"This is ridiculous," Hobbie murmured to Wes under his breath. "You know what happens now, don't you?" 

Wes nudged Hobbie again, looking back at Jaina. "We just, uh, found... someone..." He trailed off as Durron stepped into the room, looked round, and then stepped out to stand next to Jaina. "In there," he finished weakly, indicating the room half-heartedly. 

"Not a bad prank," Durron said in an almost-congratulatory tone of voice, wincing at the elbow Jaina gave him in his side. 

"What he means," Jaina said firmly, "is that this was stupid and you'll regret it." 

"Looks like you two enjoyed yourselves," Hobbie pointed out, then winced. Now they would _really_ think he and Wes were responsible. 

Durron smirked at that, and Jaina flushed, glaring at Hobbie. "And it won't go unpunished," she added menacingly. 

"Excuse me?" Wes replied incredulously, all humility gone from his voice. "Solo, you're not even half mine or Hobbie's age-" 

"Thanks for the growing old reminder," Hobbie said with a frown. 

"-you really think you can _punish_ us for this?" Wes continued, again ignoring the interruption, and the fact that each comment was simply making the other two more and more convinced of their guilt. 

"Nope," Jaina said, suddenly grinning triumphantly. "But I think Wedge will find a way to." 

Hobbie sighed and turned to Wes. "I hate you," he announced. "The first time I meet up with you in years, and within the week, you've pulled another stunt like this. I hate you," he repeated vehemently. 

Wes shrugged, grinning. "Well, wouldn't want me to have changed, would you? And you know you love me really." 

"I don't think I've ever hated anyone so much in my life," Hobbie assured him, falling in step behind Jaina resignedly as she led them down the corridor towards Wedge's office. "Ever," he added firmly. 

"But doesn't this just bring back memories?" Wes asked cheerfully as they stood outside the office door, Jaina having entered to speak to Wedge. 

"Yes," Hobbie replied. As the door opened again, and they were ushered in, he glanced sideways at Wes and grinned. _I hate you_, he mouthed. 

Wes simply stuck his tongue out childishly, and nodded towards the desk at the far end of the room, where Wedge sat, trying very hard to frown disapprovingly at them. 

Hobbie sat down in one of the plasteel chairs in front of the desk, almost falling off as Wes sat with a sudden thump on the chair beside him. Both of them looked at Wedge for a moment, then Wes grinned. "We're back, Wedge." 

Wedge nodded, but didn't quite lift his head up on the second nod; instead, he hit his head on the desk with a loud groan, and let it rest there. "I know," he moaned, and Hobbie couldn't help mimicking Wes' grin. "And I'm going to sue whoever's responsible." 

"You," Hobbie supplied, and grinned again at Wedge's sigh. Yes indeed; Wes and Hobbie were back together again, and the galaxy seemed just that little bit more fun. But it would be more fun if they were actually _responsible_ for the prank, Hobbie admitted to himself. _Oh well. Can't do everything._

But they could certainly try.

* * *


	2. Return of the Ewoks

**Title:** Back Together (2 of 6)   
**Characters:** Wes, Hobbie, Kyp, Jaina   
**Summary:** Kyp and Jaina have, apparently, earned some revenge from Wes and Hobbie. I bet they're pleased.   
**Notes:** Can't remember how I got convinced to write this. Various people of the K/J persuasion, I think. They're awful like that. They forced me to write so much of this. Yes, at gun-point, I'm sure of it. I think I blame Ketharil most of all. Oh well.   
**Words:** 1923

* * *

Hobbie looked round the lounge again, for what he felt was the millionth time in the past hour. Nope, he had to do it. "Wes," he started tentatively, "remind me again why we're doing this?" 

"Hobbie, Hobbie, Hobbie... isn't it obvious?" 

"Not-" 

"Revenge!" Wes half-turned, so that he could clearly see his friend, and grinned in what he obviously intended to be a reassuring manner. 

It didn't work. 

"But for _what_? Solo didn't _do_ anything to us." 

Wes tutted and returned to his intricate work. "She blamed us for something we didn't do - however much I wish I'd thought of it - and reported us to Wedge. _Obviously_ that deserves some revenge." 

Hobbie shook his head. "Wes, we ended up playing sabacc with Wedge and Tycho. Not that he'd be able to do anything anyway, considering we're not in the New Republic military anymore." 

"You're missing the point here, Hobbie." Apparently finished with his work, Wes stood up and wiped his hands on the edges of his shirt. He froze when he realised what he was doing, glanced down, and sighed with relief when he saw that there was nothing on his hands anyway. "The point," he continued, anticipating Hobbie's next question, "is that we have a valid excuse to exact some revenge, in the form of a practical joke, on Jaina Solo, and I intend to take every such opportunity whenever it arises." 

"Is this just because she insulted you and rejected you the first time you met her?" 

Wes scowled. "How'd you know that? And no," he continued, a grin quickly returning to his face. "This is just because it's _fun_." 

Hobbie nodded, resigned to his fate. "Fun." 

"Yep." 

"Why do I have a terribly bad feeling about this?" 

Wes waved a hand dismissively. "Because you've not had any caf today. Now hurry up and finish setting up that holocam; I want to catch her reaction on film." 

Obligingly, Hobbie did so, fixing the tiny camera into a corner of the room. After a moment studying it, he frowned and moved one of the wall holos to the left slightly; enough to hide the camera, but not enough to obscure the lens. It would still have a fairly clear view of the apartment's entrance, which was all Wes and Hobbie needed. "Done." 

"And I hope you remembered to switch it off before it recorded incriminating evidence such as our voices, and so on." 

Guiltily, Hobbie reached over and flicked the little switch that would set the camera to remote-mode, rather than on-mode. "Done _now_," he amended. 

"Good stuff... All done here too." Wes grinned. "Now, time for phase two." 

It was generally a bad sign, Hobbie mused as he and Wes exited Jaina's apartment, when pranks were planned in 'phases'.

* * *

"OK," Wes conceded, "maybe I should have double-checked Solo's schedule before planning phase two." 

Hobbie shifted in the uncomfortable plasteel chair and glared at Wes briefly. "You think? I mean, I've only been here four hours, stuck in this tiny little room, with just _you_ for company." 

Wes shrugged and glanced up at the holoscreen. Still no Solo. "Actually, it's been three hours and fifty minutes. But who's counting?" 

"I still say it was a stupid idea to use the same room as Fel and Veila. It still has that same sign on the door." Indeed, the 'Spec. Ops' sign was still on the outside of the door; the two of them had, when planning this particular venture, decided that the room was too conveniently set up to not be re-used. It was on the side of the building closest to the apartment complex, which meant they only had to use a short range transmitter for the holocam - less risk of detection, Wes had assured Hobbie. Though Hobbie still firmly believed that the plan with the least risk of detection was to _not do anything_. But when could you ever convince Wes Janson not to go through with a prank? 

"Yeah, but no one would think we're stupid enough to use the same room, especially Solo. It's ingenious!" 

Hobbie regarded Wes cynically for a second, then sighed. "We are _so_ going to be found." 

"Ssh. I think she's back. Turn on the recorder."

* * *

Jaina leaned up into another kiss, smiling against Kyp's mouth as he kissed her back, yet again. A moment passed before she pulled away, her back to her apartment door, and smiled up at him. It was strange; even though they had only been going out for a week now, it almost felt like they'd been together for years. Which, she supposed, in a way they had. Just not quite _this_ together. 

He smiled back at her, a soft smile that made her feel warm inside, warm and happy. "I love you," he told her, making her smile again. He'd told her that a lot in the past week, and every single time, it amazed her to be able to say the same back, without hesitation. 

"I love you, too," she replied, grinning as he lowered his head for another kiss. "Come on," she said when he broke it off, turning to key in her door code. "You don't have to go back to your place for a couple hours, right?" 

"Nope. Couple hours here sounds good to me." 

"Good-" Jaina froze as the door _whooshed_ open, and stared at the state of her apartment's living room. She blinked several times, rubbed her eyes, and looked again. It still looked the same. 

The walls, which had been plain, military-style off-white when she'd left that morning, were now painted a bright orange. About halfway up the wall, on every side of the room, was a wallpaper border with - she squinted to see it more clearly - tiny little pictures of- 

"Ewoks," she muttered, ignoring Kyp's snicker behind her. She continued her examination of the room: the coffee table in the centre, now covered with Ewok paw-prints in orange paint; the new cushions, with elaborately stitched Ewoks on the front; the new shade on the ceiling light, a contrasting brown with yellow outlines of Ewoks all over it; the various holos on the wall, all landscape pictures of Endor's forest moon, with tiny, faint Ewoks just visible in some scenes; and, the main feature of the room, the thing that had instantly drawn her eye- 

"Is that... I've heard some strange stories, but that's not... is it?" Kyp's voice was one of someone trying to conceal amusement. A lot of amusement. 

Jaina gritted her teeth, stalking over to the life-size stuffed Ewok sitting grinning at her from the middle of her couch. Its black eyes seemed to glint dangerously as she approached, and she avoided looking directly into them - they unnerved her slightly. 

Taped to the Ewok's chest was a flimsiplast note, folded in half twice. Jaina pulled it off quickly, ignoring the fur still stuck to the tape, and unfolded the note. The message on it was a scrawl, but readable, and very unmistakeable. 

Wordlessly, Jaina handed it to Kyp, who tried not to snicker as he read it. "'Yub yub, Colonel. Hope you appreciate the redecorating. Yours, Major Kettch.' So the stories _are_ true," he mused. "Seems the Lieutenant got promoted." 

Jaina scowled. "I am going to _kill_ Wes Janson." 

"Now now, Jaina," Kyp admonished, still trying to control the amusement in his voice. "That's not a very Jedi-like sentiment-" 

"I don't care. I'm going to _kill_ him." 

Kyp sighed - _still_ trying to conceal his amusement. Jaina wished he wouldn't; it was even more irritating than him laughing outright. "But really, you don't even know that it was him-" 

"Oh, I _know_, all right. And I swear it, he will _pay_ for this." 

"Well, at least you've gotten away from the murderous intent." 

"I'll kill him." 

Kyp sighed again, even as he failed in his effort and finally grinned. "And here I thought you'd made progress for a second." 

Jaina glared round at everything in the room, searching for _something_, some evidence she could use to justify her next few actions. But there was nothing she could see and so, sighing exasperatedly, she collapsed on the couch beside Major Kettch. "Go find Wes and kill him for me," she ordered Kyp. 

"Really, Jaina," he said, trying to sound sad and disapproving as he sat down on the other side of the stuffed Ewok. "I know I said I'd do anything for you, but I'm _not_ going to kill Wes Janson. Besides," he added, glancing round the room again, "it's almost charming. Endearing. Cute." 

"Cute." 

Kyp grinned at her over the Ewok's head. "And your little cousin will love it." 

Jaina sighed, closing her eyes as she leaned back against the couch. "Janson _will_ pay for this. I'll make sure of it." 

Kyp rolled his eyes, still smirking irritatingly, and lifted Major Kettch off the couch and onto the floor. "Make sure of it _tomorrow_," he advised her, shifting a little closer to her. "Make sure of something _else_ tonight." 

Jaina opened her eyes slightly, sparing Kyp a brief glance. She nodded and imitated his smirk as he leaned in closer for another kiss. "Tomorrow, then," she agreed, letting the promise slip to the back of her mind as Kyp's mouth descended on hers again - and again, and again.

* * *

"OK, uh, Hobbie, turn the camera off." 

At Wes's voice, Hobbie nodded abruptly to himself and fumbled with the switches on the control board, trying desperately to remember which one would turn the receiver off. 

"Hurry up! We _really_ don't want to film this!" 

Hobbie nodded again and sighed with relief as he finally found the switch for the receiver, instantly transforming the picture on the holoscreen to static. As an afterthought, he also switched off the recorder - theoretically, it would now only be recording static, but, well, better safe than sorry. 

Wes echoed Hobbie's relieved sigh, then turned and grinned at his friend. "All in all, though, pretty successful, don't you think?" 

Hobbie stared at Wes for a moment. "No, I _don't_ think. Did you even _hear_ her?" 

"About the payback?" 

Hobbie nodded. 

"Ah, it's all in the name of fun. Besides," he continued, a dangerous tone to his voice, and a ivery/i dangerous grin on his face, "it just means we get to take _more_ revenge!" 

"I can hardly wait." 

"That's the spirit, Hobbie," Wes said cheerfully, slapping Hobbie on the back, causing him to pitch forward almost into the control board. "Plus, with a couple more 'missions' like this, we'll get to give Kettch another promotion! And _everyone_ loves those!" 

"Remind me to make a note in my datapad at some point; the new definition of 'everyone' is 'Wes Janson'." 

Wes nodded, still with a cheerful air about him, and reached out to switch off the remaining controls. He stood up, brushing himself down, and grinned again at Hobbie. "We need to go make more plans now, to defend ourselves against a possible return attack." 

Hobbie opened his mouth, then closed it again. "If I scream, will anyone hear me, and come save me?" 

"Nope," Wes replied, his tone of voice far more reassuring than his actual words. "Come on. Back to the planning zone." 

"The bar." 

"Exactly," Wes agreed, and Hobbie couldn't help but feel a _little_ reassured. He would still be sitting making plans with Wes Janson, but at least he could get drunk while doing so. And that, he supposed, was all that mattered.

* * *


	3. Yellow is a Cheerful Colour

**Title:** Back Together (3 of 6)   
**Characters:** Wes, Hobbie, Kyp, Jaina, Jag, Tahiri   
**Summary:** Wait, so now Kyp and Jaina are teaming up with Wes and Hobbie? Ahhh! Everyone hide!   
**Notes:** This is my favourite post in this story. Yes, I know it's _my_ story so I shouldn't say that, but it is. I'm rather proud of this part. It's rather wonderful. And rather heavily inspired by Douglas Adams' writing (as is much of the story, actually). Heh. But I like it.   
**Words:** 5891 (longest post)

* * *

Hobbie swirled the dark liquid round in the bottom of his glass, eyeing it with wary resignation. He was sure that he'd probably had enough alcohol for the evening, and that any more would knock him from slight tipsyness into full-blown drunkenness. He couldn't just _leave_ the rest of his drink, though - it was almost half a glass. Besides, when your company for the last few hours had been Wes Janson, and was likely to remain that way for at least another hour, was being drunk really all that bad? 

"Change of plan," Wes announced suddenly, interrupting Hobbie's musings. 

Grateful for the interruption - it allowed him to put off his all-important decision on whether to get drunk or not - Hobbie set his glass down on the table and glanced up at his friend, squinting in the darkness of the bar room. "Change of _what_ plan, Wes? All we've done is drink and complain about the band. I don't remember any planning coming into any of that." 

"Ah, well, you wouldn't," Wes told him cryptically. 

Hobbie waited a few heartbeats, then frowned. "Yes, that's what I'm saying. I don't." 

Wes nodded mysteriously and looked round the dark, smoke-filled room for a long moment. Somewhere in the gloom were other pilots and techs, relaxing after a day probably considerably less stressful than Hobbie's. He was willing to bet all the credits he had that none of _them_ had had to put up with Wes's ill-thought out pranks for an entire day. He was willing to bet his credits, starfighter _and_ sanity that none of them had ever had to redecorate someone's apartment with an Ewok theme. 

"Wes," Hobbie said slowly after another moment. "Are you drunk?" 

"No." Wes hesitated, then shrugged. "Maybe a little." 

"Maybe a _lot_. So what plan is this, and what's the change?" Hobbie cursed himself; hadn't he learned already that not questioning Wes about his pranks was the best way to stay uninvolved? Apart from being on the other side of the galaxy, of course, and even then it was a small hope. 

"Well," Wes started, then stopped and swallowed another mouthful of lomin ale. "Well," he continued, "I just remembered." 

"Remembered what?" 

"Fel and Veila." 

Hobbie frowned again. "They're hardly the most forgettable of people, Wes. Have you just gotten over an undetected bout of amnesia, too?" 

"Yes. No." Wes scowled. "Shut up and let me finish. This is all their fault." 

"Finally, we have someone to blame this awful music on." As if on cue, the band started up another song, this time a terrible effort at a fusion of jazz and old Coruscanti underground rock. "I think we should shoot whoever organises the entertainment round here." 

"The pranks. Our trouble with Wedge. It's all their fault." 

"Wait, wait, I thought that was all Jaina Solo's fault? And the reason we wrecked-" 

"Improved." 

"-her apartment?" 

"No, no," Wes started patiently, his tone sympathetic to what Hobbie guessed was his own incomprehension. "I mean, yes, it was her fault. But it was their fault first." 

Hobbie nodded once, twice, then shook his head. "Sorry, Wes, I'm not following your course here. Is there a final destination to this conversation?" 

"We have to play a prank on Jag and Tahiri." 

"I knew it." Hobbie sighed and picked up his glass again; Wes had made his decision for him. He swallowed a mouthful of his drink, sighed again as he felt the effects of the alcohol slowly make their way to his head, and leaned back in his seat. 

"And we need Jaina's - and Kyp's - help." 

Hobbie downed the last of his drink and stood up to get another one. Maybe, just maybe, with enough alcohol in his system, he would wake up in the morning having forgotten he ever knew someone called Wes Janson. Miracles happened sometimes, after all.

* * *

Miracles didn't, however, happen to Hobbie Klivian. If they did, he wouldn't be standing in the turbolift of Jaina Solo's apartment building, with a Death Star explosion of a headache, waiting for Wes to override the security code. 

"They've changed it," Wes told him in that petulant tone, like a child whose favourite toy has been taken away from him by an adult. 

Hobbie ignored him. He was trying to imagine that he was still in bed, that he hadn't in fact been woken up by Wes hammering on his door six hours after going to sleep. It wasn't working very well. 

"What kind of building has a security code on the turbolift, anyway?" Wes complained. 

"One with smart occupants," Hobbie sighed. "Try... I don't know... Solo's date of birth." 

"Who would be stupid enough to put their date of birth as a security code?" 

Hobbie glared at him. His last entry code for his quarters had been his date of birth; now it was, rather inexplicably, Tycho's. At least it had managed to fool Wes longer than the previous one. 

"Oh, right." Wes grinned infuriatingly, then entered Jaina Solo's date of birth into the keypad. It beeped once, and the mechanical voice that every single turbolift in the galaxy seemed to have said, "Second code attempt failed. Third and last attempt." 

"What happens if we get this one wrong?" Hobbie asked the 'lift. 

"Turbolift descends to the bottom floor-" 

"We're already on the bottom floor." 

There was a noticeable pause before the voice continued, seeming - if it was possible - irritated. "Then New Republic military-" 

"Your software's out of date." 

The speakers of the turbolift emitted a strange sparking noise that Hobbie thought sounded very much like a "hmph," and didn't speak again. For some reason, this gave him a small sense of victory, and he grinned triumphantly. 

"What do we do now?" 

The sense was banished, of course, when he remembered why he and Wes were in the 'lift in the first place. He shrugged. "We go back to the bar so I can get rid of this hangover." 

"Ha ha. No, really." Wes was studying the keypad closely, as if searching for the code scratched somewhere in the panel in tiny letters. "We should have brought an astromech. I _knew_ we should have brought an astromech." 

"No, you didn't." 

"Shut up. Do you have any ideas for the code? Smarter ones, maybe?" 

Hobbie thought for a second, then shrugged again. "Try Durron's date of birth." 

Wes stared at him in disbelief, then shook his head. "Bad enough being stupid enough to try Solo's date of birth. I'm _not_ going to try someone's doesn't even live in this building." 

"OK. We'll go with your idea." 

There was a brief pause and then, sighing, Wes keyed in Kyp's date of birth. Hobbie grinned triumphantly again. Even if it was wrong - and it probably was, considering Jaina wasn't the only occupant of this building - all that meant was that someone from security would show up, Wes and Hobbie would bluff their way out, and they'd end up back in the same bar as last night. Perfect. 

The turbolift rocked slightly as it started to ascend. 

Wes let out a whoop of delight, and clapped Hobbie on the back. "Good work, Hobbie! I knew you could do it." 

"Yeah, well..." Hobbie sighed and leaned back again the mirrored wall of the 'lift. He supposed he should have known better than to rely on the odds whenever a Solo was concerned, however indirectly. 

As the turbolift rose to the fourth floor, Hobbie tried to get rid of his headache, by simply imagining it didn't exist. That there was no such thing as a hangover. It was going fairly well, he thought, or at least, wasn't making his headache any worse - until Wes started humming 'I'm A Little Ewok.' 

"Wes. Wes, please stop." 

". . . Hm? Stop what?" Suddenly, the 'lift jolted to a stop, and Wes grinned. "All right, here we go," he said cheerfully, pulling Hobbie out of the 'lift behind him as the doors opened. 

Hobbie stared mournfully at the closing doors as Wes dragged him down the corridor, and sighed as they stopped in front of Jaina's door. "Do we really have to do this, Wes?" 

"Of course. Now that I've remembered them, we can't _possibly_ let Jag and Tahiri get away with it." 

"Solo and Durron won't agree to help, though," Hobbie pointed out. "Not after yesterday. So why are we here?" 

"What, you want to leave _now_?" Wes stared at him incredulously. "After all the trouble of getting up here? Nope. . . Besides, they'll want revenge, too." 

"Yeah, on us." Hobbie swore to himself. "I mean, you." 

"I love your optimism, Hobbie." Wes reached out and pressed the button for the door buzzer, pushing it repeatedly in a rhythm very much like 'I'm A Little Ewok.' 

There was a clattering from the other side of the door, followed by a muffled, "Hang on a second!" Then the door opened, Jaina Solo looked at them through a small gap, said, "Oh," and slammed it shut again. "Kyp," came a muffled call from the other side of the door, "call building security!" 

"Well," Hobbie remarked dryly, "that went well. I really like how promising this plan is so far; in fact, I think it's going so well that I might just leave you to it." He turned to head back to the turbolift, but something jerked the back of his collar. 

Wes spun him round and grinned cheerfully. "Solo!" he shouted at the door, still in an incessantly cheerful manner. "Come on, we just want to talk!" 

"You keep using this collective pronoun," Hobbie noted. 

Wes pushed the door buzzer until it opened again. This time, it opened wider, and Hobbie caught a glimpse of the living room behind Kyp Durron's head. The walls were still orange; the floor still had pawprints. 

"Jaina says to tell you to go away," Kyp said reasonably. 

"OK," Hobbie replied. He tried to turn, but Wes grabbed his shirt again. 

"We just want to talk," Wes assured the younger man. 

Kyp shrugged and glanced back at something in the room. He winced, obviously at the look on Jaina's face, and shook his head regretfully. "Nope," he told them. "I think it's definitely a 'go away,' only in less polite terms." 

"It's about Jag Fel and Tahiri Veila," Wes called to Jaina past Kyp's shoulder. 

Kyp stumbled to the side as Jaina pushed past him. She stood in the doorway and glared at Wes for a moment. "What about them?" 

"About-" Wes glanced round conspiratorially, and when he spoke again, it was in a low whisper. "About that prank last week." 

"Where you and Hobbie played that stupid music in the lounge." 

"Yes. No," Wes corrected himself. "Where _Jag and Tahiri_ played that stupid music in the lounge." 

"Like I'm going to fall for that." Jaina rolled her eyes and leaned against the doorjamb. "If it was them, then where were they?" 

"They ran ahead of us," Hobbie told her. "Before you and Durron arrived." 

"Convenient." 

"I don't know," Kyp interrupted thoughtfully. "I did sense something before we found these two, that could have been Tahiri." 

"All right," Jaina conceded. "But even if it was them, what does that have to do with anything? They certainly weren't responsible for this." She took a step back and waved a hand to indicate the apartment's living room, still exactly as Wes and Hobbie had decorated it the day before, still with Kettch in the middle of the repulsorcouch. 

Wes took the opportunity to step into the doorway, and then brushed past Jaina to stand in the middle of the living room. Shaking his head, Hobbie followed him, ignoring Jaina's cursing and Kyp's amused smirk. 

"I see you liked our work, then," Wes noted - cheerfully. "Haven't made any changes." 

Jaina scowled, ignoring the door as it slid shut behind her. "No. Just haven't had time." 

Wes glanced at his wrist-chrono. "I count at least. . . eighteen hours since you saw it. Been otherwise occupied, have you?" His grin was knowing, and infuriating. 

Jaina flushed a little and glanced sideways at Kyp, who was staring at the ceiling, a faint smirk on his face. "What do you want?" she asked Wes, ignoring his question. 

Hobbie frowned as Wes collapsed on the couch next to Kettch, making himself comfortable. "Already told you; about Jag and Tahiri. Hobbie and I are here to help you get some revenge on them." 

"What makes you think we want revenge?" Jaina's tone was nonchalant, and she sat down on the other side of Kettch, moving the stuffed Ewok to the floor so she could glare at Wes. 

"Besides, Tahiri's going back to Zonama Sekot tomorrow," Kyp added. 

Hobbie got that strange feeling - dread, mixed with a little anticipation - as Wes grinned slowly. "Really? And who's taking her?" 

"Wes. . ." But Hobbie's warning tone was ignored as Jaina replied warily. 

"Jag," she told Wes, in an almost thoughtful tone. She suddenly smiled, a dangerous, predatory smile. 

Wes's grin grew wider. "Perfect." 

Hobbie glanced over at Kyp, who had a bemused expression on his face. "You know what that grin means?" 

"I think I can guess. What?" 

"We're doomed." 

Kyp nodded in agreement.

* * *

Tahiri Veila was happy. Maybe a little wistful, too. Happy, because over the past few weeks she had made a new best friend - and something more - in the form of Jagged Fel. But wistful, perhaps regretful, because with the conclusion of this lunch date, her stay on Denon would be over, and she would be returning to Zonama Sekot. True, Jag would be accompanying her on her journey, but she'd had so much fun with him here on Denon, that she almost didn't want to leave at all. Being with him in hyperspace wasn't nearly the same as being with him on-planet, even if they _would_ be alone for the whole journey. . . 

"Well, Barefoot Girl, I suppose we'd better get a move on." 

Tahiri rolled her eyes and sighed. Since their prank last week, Jag had been alternating between her codename and real name. After all the complaining she'd done to get him to say it in the first place, she supposed she couldn't complain _again_. Nope - easiest way to get back at him for it was: "Sure thing, Imperial Dude." 

Jag winced visibly before standing up from the tapcaf table. He left the cost of their meal in credits on the table, along with a generous tip, and brushed invisible crumbs from his clothes. He was dressed casually for once, and Tahiri noticed, amusingly, that he seemed even more uncomfortable in these clothes than in his uniform. 

"Do you need to go see anyone before we leave? Or did you do the good-bye thing this morning?" Jag asked her as they headed down the street and towards the hangar their ship was stored in. 

Tahiri frowned slightly as Jag's question reminded her of something. "I did all that, except that Jaina wasn't in, and neither was Kyp. When I saw the Solos, Leia said Jaina was busy all day with Kyp, so I left a message. . ." 

"She's with Kyp?" Jag's tone was thoughtful. "Strange. My uncle said he saw Kyp with Wes Janson this morning. Didn't mention Jaina at all." 

Something started buzzing in Tahiri's head softly, something like a diluted version of her danger sense. She glanced round the street, but everything seemed to be in order. Still, she checked that her lightsabre was easily accessible, and spread out her senses. Nothing seemed out of place. . . 

"What's wrong?" Jag had noticed Tahiri's sudden tension, and as they approached the military base and the hangar just outside it, he rested a hand on his blaster. 

"Oh, nothing." She shook her head. It wasn't even a real premonition; just a faint buzzing. Didn't mean anything. Nothing to be _worried_ about. . . "Really," she added, forcing herself to keep her hands away from her lightsabre. 

Jag's expression was dubious, but he lifted his hand away from his blaster and used it to key the hangar's side door open. "After you," he teased, waving Tahiri through. 

Tahiri stepped into the hangar, her gaze scanning the ships gathered there: all of Twin Suns squadron's various fighters; one or two X-wings; a small Hapan ship - probably belonging to Tenel Ka, who was either here on a diplomatic mission, or to see Jacen, Tahiri wasn't sure which; and lastly, the small corvette _Chancer_ that was now assigned to Twin Suns to replace the _Trickster_, and that Jag was using to take Tahiri back to Zonama Sekot. 

It was bright yellow. 

Tahiri was absolutely certain it had not been yellow when she'd seen it the day before. Still, she turned to Jag as he entered the hangar behind her and asked him. 

"No," he replied slowly, not looking away from Tahiri - perhaps not daring to look up and see what had made her ask the question. "The _Chancer_ is definitely not yellow. It's standard military grey. Why?" 

Tahiri took a deep breath and stepped aside so that the ship was directly in Jag's line of sight. She couldn't help smirking slightly at his reaction; it was rare enough for him to get even a little angry, let alone wide-eyed, swearing and absolutely furious. She watched as he ran up to the ship and around it, searching for the culprit. But the only other people Tahiri could sense in the hangar were two mechanics, working on the X-wings at the other side. 

Tahiri slowly walked towards Jag, who was standing fuming silently beside _Chancer_, and studied the ship carefully as she did so. The whole ship had been painted yellow - a bright, nauseating shade of yellow, with a thick black stripe down the middle - with the name of it in black lettering on the side, in a font that was definitely not standard. As she drew closer, she saw that someone had, in small letters, stencilled underneath the name: 'for Imperial Dude and Barefoot Girl.' 

Now _that_ was strange. The only people that knew about the codenames were her, Jag, and two hours worth of recording that they had carefully removed any trace of on the computer in the 'Spec. Ops' room. Of course, they hadn't been able to do so until the next day, but there had been no evidence of anyone entering the room between their hurried escape and clearing up. Nothing had been disturbed, the computer showed no sign of having been accessed - all there had been was a faint imprint in the Force of herself, Jag, Wes and Hobbie. 

Wes and Hobbie. 

Now that she thought about it, those mechanics in the corner felt a little familiar, too. She reached out to try and confirm that, and found that she could suddenly sense two other presences in the hangar, too - faint, wispy, concealed, but very familiar. 

"Jag," she said quietly, taking a step away from the ship. "Where did your uncle say he saw Kyp and Janson?" 

"I don't know. . ." Jag brushed a hand along the side of the ship, and grimaced when he pulled it away, specks of yellow paint sticking to it. "On the base, I presume." He pointed back towards the other exit of the hangar, which led on to the military base. 

"Near, ah, here, do you think?" 

Jag looked over at her sharply, then followed her gaze towards the X-wings. "Maybe." 

Tahiri thought about approaching the 'mechanics' and confronting them, but decided against it. She turned round to face the ship again, almost crashing into Jag. "Come on, let's get the ship started up. Maybe we can give them a fright when we leave." 

Jag nodded and turned to the hatch, entering a code into the console. It blatted at him, and he swore. "The code's not working. Someone's changed it." 

Tahiri frowned thoughtfully. "What was it?" 

"Um - my date of birth," he admitted. 

Tahiri sighed and looked over at the small console. The screen was flashing angrily at them, warning them that they had two tries left before the ship's computer would alert its captain of a break in attempt. Which, of course, meant Jag's comlink would beep at them in addition to the ship's alarm - how futile. 

She closed her eyes and tried to extend her senses to the computer in front of her. This wasn't something she was very good at, but after more than four years of hanging around with Anakin Solo, you picked up a few things. With a little spark of happiness, she realised that thinking about that didn't hurt at all; just made her nostalgic about the Academy. 

_Concentrate,_ she told herself, and tried to do so. The memory that held the code had been changed within the last few hours, it seemed, but she couldn't _quite_ sense what the new code was. Instead, she tried to nudge the computer into simply bypassing the need for the code. Nothing happened. She frowned thoughtfully, then tried to tell it the code had already been entered. With a beep, the console flashed again with a new number, then _code accepted_, and the hatch started to open. 

"Nice work," Jag said. 

"Thanks," she replied absently, then, "That was _my_ date of birth." 

"I noticed that. Our pranksters have a twisted sense of humour, it seems. Fans of irony." 

Tahiri nodded, then glanced warily up through the open hatch. "I'm a little scared to see what they've done to the inside." 

Jag met her gaze briefly. "We'll check it out together, Barefoot Girl. Come on," he said, and grabbed her hand as he headed up the ramp and into the ship. 

Tahiri hit the button to close up the hatch as her feet hit the deck, then looked round carefully, her hand still in Jag's. "Well, this part seems clear. . ." 

Jag shook his head and pointed to the common area that opened up a few feet away. On the main table was a huge pile of - unfortunately empty - lomin ale bottles, artfully arranged in a square-base pyramid. Propped up against it was a sign that read - Tahiri squinted slightly to read it - 'Galactic record attempt awaiting verification. Keep compensators at one hundred on your way to the record keepers on Mon Calamari, please. WJ & KD.' 

"Where did they get all those bottles?" Tahiri wondered out loud, amused despite herself. 

Jag shook his head again. "Who knows? Probably from the Rogues and Wraiths. We'll have to clear that up before we take off," he noted with a sigh, then pointed in the other direction with the hand that held Tahiri's. "Let's see what they've done to the cockpit."

* * *

Hobbie noticed Wes grin and nudge Jaina's shoulder, distracting her from the problem she couldn't help but fix on the X-wing they were hiding behind. "Look," he told her, stabbing a finger at the screen of his datapad. "They're just going into the cockpit now." 

Jaina set her borrowed tools down on the floor and brushed her hands on her paint- and grease-stained shirt. She studied the datapad and grinned slowly as Jag and Tahiri disappeared from the view of the holocam by the hatch. She took the 'pad from Wes and switched the view to the camera hidden above the controls in the cockpit - which offered a clear view of most of the controls, the seats, and the entrance. 

Kyp and Hobbie crowded round the datapad, too; Hobbie was curious to see just what Kyp and Wes had done to the inside of the ship. He knew about the lomin ale bottle pyramid, since it had been his unfortunate task to ask around every Rogue, Wraith and Twin Suns pilot the night before for any bottles they had left over, and to assure them that they weren't going to get in trouble for having secret stashes in their bunk rooms. But he and Jaina had spent the entire morning, after ushering all the other mechanics and pilots out of the hangar, doing the new paint job on the _Chancer_. 

The cockpit had undergone a slight refurbishing, it seemed; the padding on the pilot's and co-pilot's seats was now the same material as the cushions in Jaina's apartment - bright orange with brown stitched Ewoks. There were one or two posters up, too, featuring the same panoramic views of Endor as the holos Wes and Hobbie had put up in Jaina's living room. In fact, the similarities between the redecorating work and the ship job were starting to worry Hobbie; just where did one locate such Ewok-themed items? Was there a store in the city centre? 'Ewoks R Us'? If there wasn't, then Hobbie knew - he just _knew_ - that there would be when Wes eventually stopped flying in a squadron. And that he'd somehow end up working there. 

And of course, the main feature of the work: 

"What the hell is _that_!" Jag's stunned shout came through the datapad, made slightly tinny by the transmission. 

"It's an Ewok," Tahiri's equally-stunned voice said. 

"It's in my seat!" Jag told her unnecessarily. 

"And it's wearing a captain's uniform," Tahiri added. 

Hobbie blinked; Kettch was indeed wearing the uniform of a captain in Starfighter Command. "Wes," he started slowly, "where did you find an Ewok-sized captain's uniform?" 

Wes looked up at him and grinned infuriatingly. "Same place I found his flightsuit, of course." 

Hobbie shrugged, and nodded. Of course. 

Jag had approached Kettch and was now taking a folded piece of flimsiplast from his hand. He opened it and read it to Tahiri. "'Colonel Fel, Jedi Veila, my name is Kettch and I'll be your captain for today. Please take a seat and strap yourselves in. Enjoy the refreshments that have been made available, and I hope you also enjoy my company. Yours, temporarily-demoted Captain Kettch.'" 

Though her expression was not clearly visible through the holocams, Tahiri sounded amused. "An Ewok pilot? That's ridiculous!" 

Hobbie couldn't help snickering; neither could Wes. 

"Almost as short as you," Jag teased, then looked round the cockpit. "What do we do with him?" 

"Let him get on with his piloting," Tahiri suggested innocently. She stuck her tongue out at what must have been a shocked expression on Jag's face. "He could navigate for us, then. I bet he could plot a better course than you." 

"No," Jag said firmly, picking Kettch up and turning to the exit. "We'll put him in with the bottles. In fact, I'll go clear them up now. You start up the ship," he told Tahiri. 

"Boring," she teased him in a sing-song voice as he left the cockpit, then turned round to check the displays for the systems. Apparently, everything was in order - the ship's repulsorlifts kicked in a moment later, and Hobbie glanced up as the noise of them filled the hangar. 

"Aw." Kyp actually sounded disappointed. "They didn't find the other stuff, after all the time it took us, Wes." 

Wes glanced up and grinned again as he closed the datapad. "It'll give them something for the trip, then." 

"What-" Jaina was drowned out by the noise of the _Chancer_'s engines as it lifted off. The hangar's ceiling parted slowly, loudly, to allow the ship to leave. First, though, it hovered above the four pranksters for a few seconds, and Wes waved up at Jag and Tahiri through the cockpit cheerfully. Then the ship turned and shot out into the clear skies of Denon, and as the group watched it fade into the distance, the ceiling doors slid shut, and the hangar was silent once again. 

"What," Jaina repeated, "else did you do in the ship?" 

Kyp and Wes told her.

* * *

Stars extended into the white lines of hyperspace, and Tahiri stretched and leaned back in the co-pilot's seat. She glanced up as Jag stood. "What is it?" she asked him, frowning. 

His expression was strange, and she couldn't quite figure it out. He was trying to keep his face in its usual, serious expression, but the corner of his mouth was turned up slightly in amusement. Only slightly. "I think," he said, pulling Tahiri to her feet, "you should come and see what they did to the galley." 

"Huh?" Tahiri followed him out of the cockpit, towards the common area near the galley. 

"I saw it when I cleared up the bottles," Jag explained, and hit the button to open the galley door. 

"Saw _what_-?" Tahiri stopped when she saw the galley for herself. 

The small room had been cleared of all its surfaces and seating, except for two chairs and a square dining table. These were set out in the centre of the room, apparently undisturbed by the slight movements that the inertial compensator hadn't quite dispersed during the jump to lightspeed. A tablecloth - thankfully Ewok-free - was placed neatly on the table, covering its stark durasteel surface; and old-fashioned utensils - made of metal, rather than the usual disposable ones supplied by the military - were set on either side, in front of the chairs. In the middle of the table was a small container half-full of water, with a rare Alderaanian rose in it. Propped against the container was a fancy cream-coloured envelope, 'Jag & Tahiri' written neatly on it in black ink. 

Waiting by the table, just powering up, was C-3PO. "Mistress Veila, Master Fel," he greeted them. "Please, take a seat. I have been instructed to serve you your meals on this journey, and if you give me a moment, I will find the printed menus for you to read at your leisure." 

"What, we don't get to hear it from you?" Tahiri tried to sound disappointed, even as she marvelled at what had been set up for them. 

Threepio's answer sounded almost sulky; Tahiri reminded herself that this was impossible for a droid. "I am afraid not, Mistress Veila. Master Durron was quite clear on what he would do to me if I spoke even a word that was not necessary, which is, of course, absurd. But he explicitly told me that only printed menus were to be provided." 

Tahiri grinned. She could only imagine what Kyp had said to the droid. "Thanks, Threepio, but that won't be necessary right now. We only just had lunch." 

"A dessert menu, then," Threepio said, ushering them into their seats. "One moment." He disappeared into the food preparation area of the galley. 

Tahiri met Jag's eyes and grinned again ruefully. "I did wonder why he wasn't there when I went to the Solos'. And why Leia was acting strange." 

"I bet Han was glad to get rid of him for a week," Jag said. He picked up the envelope and opened it, scanning the letter inside. He started smiling as he read it, and when he handed it to Tahiri, he was almost grinning. 

_To Jag and Tahiri,_ it read, in the neat, small script that Tahiri knew was Kyp's. _First, let me comment on how much easier that is for me to say than 'Jag and Jaina,' and congratulations to you both. And let me also comment on how absolutely terrible you both are at pretending you don't like each other. _

I hope you enjoyed the paint job. Jaina and Hobbie are working on it right now, and I've never seen so many cans of yellow paint in my life. I think both of them are very glad that Twin Suns doesn't have a Star Destroyer assigned to it instead. 

The lomin ale bottle pyramid took Wes and I hours; I hope you haven't just dismantled it and thrown it out. We managed to beat the current galactic record - held, I believe, by Garik Loran (Face?) and Kell Tainer - by ten centimetres. Mon Cal isn't btoo/b out of the way of your journey, so I hope you have time to make a detour and get it verified by the records office. Just in case you can't, though, Wes took a holo of it. We can't actually use this for the record, but we bcan/b send you so many copies of it that you apologise profusely for ruining our attempt, and promise to rebuild the pyramid. 

Kettch was very pleased when we told him that he would be flying you to Zonama Sekot. He didn't even mind the demotion to Captain - Wes couldn't find any other uniform in time. He's actually a very good pilot, Wes says; he flew with your father once, Jag. Ask him about it. 

If you're reading this, then you've obviously found what we set up in the galley. It might appear that we're making up for the rest of the things we've done, but we're not. This is another punishment. You're being forced to eat every single meal on your journey in Threepio's company. I did, however, promise to let Ben take him apart and rebuild him if he even thought about making you sit through a reading of the ridiculously long menu, you'll be glad to know. You get flimsi copies of that. We actually intended to find an even more annoying droid to serve you - Wes said he wished he could get Squeaky, I think - but Han said that, if he bought us all the paint, would we take Threepio away instead? We all figured it was a fair deal. 

Hope you enjoy your journey; say hi to Danni and Tekli for us, and anyone else who's there. And I hope that you think very carefully in future about your choice of prank victims - and if you're going to try something like that again, then please, for Sith's sake, find some better music. 

Glad to get rid of you for another while, Tahiri, and you for a week or so, Jag. 

Yours (not really - Jaina's), Kyp. 

Tahiri looked up at Jag, and echoed his grin. "I have to hear about your father flying with an Ewok." 

"Strangely enough," Jag replied, still smiling, "that's something he hasn't actually told me. We'll have to ask him some time. But first-" He took the menu Threepio handed him and read down the list. "-dessert." 

Tahiri nodded. Even with Threepio for company, this would be a great trip. She was sure of it.

* * *

They landed on Zonama Sekot a few days later, in the clear landing area closest to the village in which Tahiri, Danni and Tekli lived. Waiting for them as they exited the ship was Danni, but her attention was on the ship rather than them. She was staring at it with an extremely amused expression on her face, and she turned to Jag and Tahiri as they approached. 

"Hey there," she greeted them, then nodded towards the ship. "Were you attacked by the same creature that got the Yellow Aces a few years ago?" 

Tahiri glanced back at the bright yellow ship and grinned. "Yes," she told Danni after a thoughtful pause. "We were. And we'll be going back for a rematch at some point." 

"Is this the kind of thing I just shouldn't ask about?" 

Tahiri grinned again. "Probably."

* * *


	4. I'm A Little Ewok

**Title:** Back Together (4 of 6)   
**Characters:** Wes, Hobbie, Jag, Tahiri   
**Summary:** It's Ben Skywalker's birthday party. And it's Jag and Tahiri's turn to help Wes and Hobbie...? Oh noes...   
**Notes:** This is the part that originally had the Worst Continuity Error OMGEVAR (TM), but it has been re-written so I don't cringe every time I even glance at this story. It's still not brilliant, but all in all, I guess this part's OK. I think it also started off my obsession with crack!ships. Wyn/Valin!   
**Words:** 5662

* * *

Hobbie yawned and ran a hand through his blond hair, blinking at his face in the mirror. The door was buzzing insistently at him, but he was pretty sure it was just Wes, and so was ignoring it. If it wasn't, well, no harm done, right? Though he suspected that not many other people pushed door buzzers in the same rhythm as 'I'm A Little Ewok.' 

With a sigh, he left the refresher and made his way through the cluttered living room to the apartment's door. He paused there for a moment, listening curiously - along with the door buzzer, there was a faint voice, singing something that Hobbie could just about hear. 

". . . short and stout," it hummed. "Got my spear and ready to scout. Run through the forest, climb all the trees; making lots of friends with ease." There was a brief pause, for both the door buzzer and the voice, then it started again. "I'm a little Ewok. . ." 

Hobbie shook his head, but couldn't help snickering softly. When he felt he could keep the amused smile from his face, he keyed the door open and leaned against the jamb. "Janson," he said, trying to sound irritated; it wasn't very hard. "What a surprise." 

Wes brought his hand away from the door buzzer and back to his side, grinning. "Hobbie! No, haven't been waiting here long, just twenty minutes or so, you lazy Sithspawn." 

"I might have been away," Hobbie pointed out. "Gone somewhere." 

Wes raised an eyebrow. "At nine in the morning, on your day off? Yeah, right, of course." 

Hobbie closed his eyes, just longer than a blink, then opened them again and glared at Wes. "If you know it's my day off, then _why_ are you here at nine?" 

"Plan," Wes said simply, pushing past Hobbie to enter the living room. He glanced round, then sat on the couch, leaning back comfortably. 

Hobbie was getting quite used to instances like these. Over the past two years, there had been quite a lot of 'plans', of pranks - successful and otherwise - played on Kyp and Jaina, on Jag and Tahiri. But just because it happened often didn't mean he had to _like_ it. 

He sighed and pushed himself away from his leaning spot, letting the door slide shut behind him as he joined Wes on the couch. "What are we planning this time?" He winced: every time he said 'we', it was like admitting he was as guilty of the pranks as Wes. Which he wasn't, of course. At all. 

Wes shifted and swung his legs up on the couch, letting them rest half on the opposite arm of the couch, half on top of Hobbie. He lay back, leaning his head on his hands against the edge, and closed his eyes. "Skycrawler's birthday party's today, and we're both invited. Han and Wedge are organising it, so it would be a crime for us to allow it to go exactly to their plans." 

Hobbie frowned at the ease with which Wes had taken over his couch, and pushed him. With a shocked yelp, he hit the floor with a thud, landing in a scruffy heap. Hobbie grinned. "What about revenge on Kyp and Jaina? Messing with our lunch the other day wasn't very nice-" 

"That's the fun of it, Hobbie," Wes interrupted cheerfully, scrambling to his feet and returning to the couch - this time, sitting. "We get to make the kid's party more fun _and_ get our own back on Kyp and Jaina! Efficiency is our friend this time." 

"Shouldn't efficiency always be our friend?" 

"Ssh. Now, we have six hours before the party's due to start, which _might_ be enough time to sort everything out. . ." 

Hobbie sighed again. It might well be enough time, but even if it was, he just _knew_ it wasn't going to go exactly to plan. Nothing ever did anymore - the kids were getting better at outsmarting Wes. "Do we have to do this, Wes? Isn't it about time we gave the kids a break?" 

Wes stared at him blankly, then shook his head. "I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that blasphemous suggestion, Hobbie. Now, come on. I'm thinking we need fake snacks, some foul-tasting beverage, and paint - lots and lots of paint." 

Hobbie blinked. Paint. Why did these plans always involve paint? "Wes, do we-?" 

Wes scowled. "If you ask that again I'm going to hit you. Now," he continued, his grin returning. "Let's get started."

* * *

Jag stared at the man standing in his doorway for a moment, then turned towards the living room. "Did you hear what he just asked us?" he called to Tahiri. 

Tahiri poked her head out of the living room and shook it, studying him curiously. "No, what? And who?" she added. 

Jag stepped a little to the side - just enough for Tahiri to see Wes and Hobbie standing in the corridor just outside the apartment, but not enough to let either of them enter. "He asked us to _help_ them. With a _prank_. At Ben Skywalker's _birthday_." 

Wes grinned and nodded at Tahiri. "It's going to be classic. And it's not just for Skycrawler's party," he continued, trying nonchalantly to edge his way into the apartment. Jag stepped sideways and blocked his way again. "I mean, I know you want to get back at Kyp and Jaina, right?" 

Tahiri thought about that for a moment. "Well," she mused, "we never did get back at them for the _Chancer_ a couple years ago. Or for locking us out of our own apartment last week," she added, frowning. 

Jag looked at Wes sharply. "You're going to prank Kyp and Jaina? Today? At Ben's party?" 

Wes glanced at him, an amused smile creeping across his face, a smile that irritated Jag. "Yes, yes we are. Why?" 

"Nope," Jag told him, shaking his head. "Can't let you do that. Not today." 

He didn't realise how quickly he had rejected Wes's idea, how abrupt it had sounded, until he glanced round to find everyone staring at him: Hobbie was frowning thoughtfully, Wes looked annoyed, and Tahiri was studying him curiously. He cleared his throat. "What?" he asked, trying to appear casual. 

"Not that I want them to do it," Tahiri started, "but what's so bad about letting them play a prank on Kyp and Jaina today?" 

"Well, it. . ." How was he going to cover for this? He couldn't _tell_ them, because then they'd ruin the surprise. No, he'd have to make something up, and he'd have to do it quickly. "Well, they already owe us for the prank they played on us a couple weeks ago," he said quickly, indicating Wes and Hobbie. "We can't help them until we get revenge on them for that." 

"Actually," Hobbie interrupted, "that one was Jaina's fault. She was the one who reprogrammed your ship." 

"And I think you'll find that I never did get back at you for painting all the Yellow Aces' fighters blue," Wes added, staring pointedly at Jag. Jag stared back, knowing perfectly well that Wes was used to people painting the Aces' fighters. "I'll let you have that one as your engagement present, but only if you help us with this." 

Jag couldn't help a soft smile at the reminder of his and Tahiri's engagement, and he glanced back to find Tahiri grinning. "Well..." No, he _couldn't_ let them play a prank on Kyp and Jaina today. Any other day; not today. Unless... "OK," he conceded, nodding slowly. "We'll help." 

"Great!" Wes grinned, and Hobbie sighed. "You won't regret it." 

Nope - if he could twist this round successfully, Jag was pretty sure he wouldn't regret it at all.

* * *

Big. That was the only word Hobbie could think of to describe the hall in which Ben Skywalker's sixth birthday party was being held. Big, and crowded. 

He looked round the groups of people again, but he hardly recognised anyone. It seemed as though Han and Wedge had invited half the galaxy - he guessed, if the expressions on Luke and Mara's faces were anything to by, the party was originally supposed to be a small celebration. But if you asked Han Solo to organise a party, _well_...he'd picked up more than just social skills from his wife, that was for sure. 

Wes grinned and shifted the holdall he was carrying on his shoulder, bringing it round so he could reach into it easily. Hobbie stared at it suspiciously. Wes had insisted, after borrowing the bag from Tahiri, upon packing it himself. He wasn't sure he wanted to know what Wes had brought to the party. 

Hobbie's attention shifted to Jag as the younger man caught up with them, bringing his arm up to pull Tahiri in to his side. "Where were you?" he asked Jag, curious. 

"Hm? Oh...nowhere. So," he continued quickly, glancing round the hall. "What are you doing first?" 

"What are _we_ doing first," Wes corrected him. He raked through the bag quickly and pulled out a transparent plasteel container, full of - from what Hobbie could see - additional party snacks. He gave it to Jag. "Your first job is to distribute these. Just...mix them up with the regular snacks over there." Wes pointed at the right side of the hall, where a long table was set up with various dishes and plates of snacks laid out. After a moment, he also pulled a bottle out of the bag and handed it to Tahiri. "And, you know...spike the punch." 

Hobbie noted the bottle contents with a grimace. It wasn't an alcoholic drink, since it was only Ben's sixth birthday - not that Wes was explicitly against underage drinking; he just didn't want to waste good alcohol on a six-year-old - but it was something that tasted infinitely worse. _Especially_ when mixed with fruit-flavoured punch. Sane people just didn't add Tatooine berry water to drinks. In fact, sane people wouldn't drink it at all - there was _nothing_ appetising about the berries you found on Tatooine, even if you were out in the desert with nothing else to eat or drink. 

When the couple had nodded and disappeared in the direction of the buffet table, Hobbie turned to Wes and awaited his own instructions. There was a long pause - Wes seemed to be taking a moment to study everyone in the hall. Hobbie followed his gaze. 

Over in the far left corner was a table set up with an old-style sound system, controlled by - Hobbie squinted - Valin Horn. The young Jedi seemed engrossed in his job as DJ, and Hobbie shook his head. Han and Wedge organising a party, Valin Horn as a DJ...what next? Kell Tainer organising the children's party games? Baron Fel - Baron Fel actually being _invited_ to a party planned by Han and Wedge? If anything remotely as crazy as either of those was to happen, Hobbie knew he would be going insane. 

"All right, kiddies," a voice shouted over the sound system, interrupting the bouncy music. "Time for a game of pin the ears on the gundark! All you kids get over to this side of the hall and we'll start." 

Hobbie closed his eyes. No. No, that hadn't been Kell's voice. It absolutely had _not_ been Kell's voice. 

Who was he kidding? He was already insane from hanging around Wes for so long. Or maybe _for_ hanging around Wes for so long in the first place. These prepositions were confusing. 

"Games!" Wes cried excitedly, nudging Hobbie's shoulder. "Come on, let's join in before we start our part of the prank." 

Hobbie opened his eyes and stared at Wes, ignoring the small children who crashed into him as they ran towards Kell and the corner of the hall. "Are you kidding me? Wes, the games are for _children_. _Physical_ children, not people with the mental age of a child," he added. 

"So?" Wes grinned. "It'll be fun! I haven't played party games in so long..." 

Hobbie sighed. "I'm _not_ playing pin the ears on the gundark at Ben Skywalker's birthday party," he told Wes firmly. "Or anyone else's birthday party, for that matter." 

"Pfft...you're such a spoil sport. All right." He glanced round the hall one last time, then turned back to Hobbie. "We'll start our part," he said, pulling two cans of neon green spray paint out of the holdall, and handing one to Hobbie. 

Hobbie held it up and studied it for a second. "I dread to ask what we're going to do with these." 

Grinning, Wes made sure the rest of the paint was safely stored in the bag, and zipped it up. He found the nearest empty table, stashed the holdall under it and tucked the chairs in around it. Once it was well-hidden, he turned back to his friend. "Come on. Out there," he told him, waving a hand to indicate something outside the open doors. 

Hobbie squinted as he looked through the doors and out into the street. Directly opposite the party venue was a large, stark grey building, a building Hobbie knew belonged to the Security and Interplanetary Logistics Liaison Yearly Accountants - the last word of which had foiled many of Wes's drunken attempts to make fun of the local government. "And, uh...what are we doing there?" He knew, if he hadn't asked, that Wes would have told him eventually anyway. 

Wes grinned again and held up his own spray can. "Just a little birthday message for Bennie," he answered, his attempt at innocence failing miserably. 

"On the side of a government building." 

"Yes." 

"The side of a government building which has a security force with a total sense of humour deficiency." 

"Yes." 

Hobbie nodded. "All right, just wanted to make sure we were both clear on that point." 

"We are. Let's go." And Wes did so. Hobbie followed close behind, trying very hard not to get a bad feeling about this. 

It didn't work.

* * *

Jag, having distributed the foam and plasteel party snacks amongst the real ones, was leaning against the buffet table and gazing out into the hall. Most of the children were at the far side, playing games with Kell and Face, while the adults - and the children who felt they were far too old for party games - crowded onto the dance floor in the middle of the room. The music Valin was playing was loud, and ruined any hope of eavesdropping on people's conversations, but Jag was content to simply watch for now. 

He saw Tahiri approach out of the corner of his eye, and smiled softly. As she stopped beside him, he reached out an arm to hug her sideways, and she leaned against him. "Did you spike the punch?" Jag grimaced. He hated saying that. It sounded so juvenile. Well, it _was_ juvenile. 

Tahiri grinned up at him. "Yeah, done." She held up the empty bottle, then placed it on the table behind her and wrapped her arms around him. "That's it for us, isn't it?" 

Jag shook his head. "We have to keep a close eye on Wes and Hobbie... We can _not_ let them ruin anything for Kyp and Jaina today." 

Tahiri frowned thoughtfully and looked up at him, her green eyes searching his. "Why? What's so bad about it today? You never did say earlier." 

Jag hesitated. Could he tell her? What if she told Jaina? No, she wouldn't do that. . . But Kyp had made him swear not to tell _anyone_. . . "You'll find out soon enough," he told her instead. "Just trust me on this." 

After another moment of studing him carefully, Tahiri shrugged and smiled. "All right, I'll trust you. I suppose it must be fairly important, then." 

"Yeah..." Jag nodded and turned his gaze back to the dance floor. He could see, somewhere on the far side the hall, Kyp and Jaina dancing together in time with the music. He made a mental note of their current position, determined to keep Wes and Hobbie as far away from there as possible. Moving on, he saw Han and Leia, his sister Wyn, Luke and- 

His sister? 

Jag's arm slipped from Tahiri's shoulders as he stared back out to the dance floor, stunned. Yes, his sister was definitely there, talking to Valin Horn beside the sound system and giggling in a way that - for some reason - made him want to hit Valin. But how was Wyn here? He hadn't known she would be. But if she was here, then that meant his parents were, too. His parents were here, and they hadn't even told him. 

"Um, Tahiri...wait here a second..." 

Tahiri rolled her eyes and followed him as he made his way through the crowd towards Wyn. "Right, of course. Where are we going?" 

He glanced sideways at her and smiled. "All right, come with me." He looked round again. "I saw my sister. . . My parents must be here, too." 

"There?" 

Jag stopped and looked in the direction Tahiri was pointing. Yes, there - his father was at the other end of the buffet table, a few metres from it, talking to his uncle. His mother was standing just to the side, watching both of them, an amused smirk on her face. As Jag and Tahiri approached them, they heard why. 

". . . can't _believe_ you told them that _lie_-" 

"What are you talking about, Fel?" Wedge's confusion was tinged with amusement. "I didn't tell your son and his fiancee any lies-" 

"Yes, you- _fiancee_!" 

"Jag," Tahiri hissed, pulling him to a stop a few metres from the argument. "You _did_ tell your parents about us, didn't you?" 

Jag thought back to the last time he'd seen his parents. It had been a year ago... Tahiri had been with him - they'd decided to take a trip to Csilla together...so they knew he and Tahiri were together. But his last comm call... _Let's see, that was maybe...two weeks ago..._ "No," he admitted. "Not as such, no. I haven't spoken to them since then," he explained quickly. 

"Force, Jag..." Tahiri sighed. "Too late now. Let's go speak to them-" 

"No, wait, I want to hear what they're arguing about." Jag grabbed Tahiri's hand to stop her interrupting the argument, and she looked back at him, an eyebrow raised. 

"They're getting married?" his mother interrupted, a wide smile on her face. "That's wonderful!" 

"Yes, but...no, but...now wait a second..." His father seemed flustered, having lost control of the argument so suddenly. "Yes, yes, it's great, but - Antilles - you told them-" 

"I didn't tell them anything," Wedge cut him off. "I don't even know what you're talking about." 

"The Ewok pilot-" 

Jag couldn't help but snicker at that. Oh yes. That had been an amusing conversation last year. Tahiri had brought it up casually at dinner, halfway through their visit, and it was the first time Jag remembered his father actually being flustered. "A lie," he had assured them. "An Ewok pilot? That's ridiculous." 

His mother had frowned thoughtfully. "I'm sure I remember Wedge telling me something like that...something about Tetran Cowell..." 

"I saw a show on the Holonet," Wyn had told them suddenly, "about a shuttle co-pilot in the Corellian system, and he was an Ewok, and--" 

"Have you been watching Holonet trash again, young lady?" Jag's father had interrupted sternly. "I thought I told you..." 

And the conversation had meandered off, turning into a discussion about the Fel children's awful habits. Tahiri had grinned the whole way through, ignoring Jag's sighs as she contributed to the discussion whole-heartedly. 

Now it was Wedge's turn to grin and, glimpsing Jag and Tahiri out of the corner of his eye, he winked at them. "You mean Kettch? Now, how do you know he has anything to do with me whatsoever? I've heard of him, of course, but I can safely say that I would be the _last_ to tell anyone else about him." 

Jag's father narrowed his eyes and glared at his brother-in-law, but Wedge wasn't going to waver. A moment passed before he turned away and, eyes widening again, caught sight of Jag and Tahiri. "Jagged," he said, trying to force cheer into his voice to cover up for his loss in the argument. The fact that his voice was never cheery to begin with didn't seem to bother him. "And Miss Veila. Syal and I were just looking for you both..." 

Jag nodded. "A pleasant surprise to see you here, Father...I believe you've heard our news?" 

"I'm most put out that you didn't tell me yourself." 

Jag met his stern gaze evenly. "And I'm most put out that you didn't bother telling me you would be here." 

"Yes, well..." 

"I'll be going," Wedge interrupted suddenly. "Things to do, people to see. Pranksters to catch," he added, nodding towards an abandoned plate of foam snacks beside him on the table. He hugged his sister quickly, then left before anyone could start another argument with him. 

Jag let Tahiri handle the conversation with his parents and allowed his attention to wander for a moment. Wyn was still talking to Valin - the young Jedi seemed to be showing her how the sound system worked. He still felt that strange urge to hit the boy... Kyp and Jaina, though, had moved closer to this side of the hall. In fact, they were only a few metres away, at the edge of the crowd closest to the buffet table. Jag frowned. They were more clearly visible now...and, he realised when he looked round again, Wes and Hobbie were already back. This was going to take some tricky maneuvering to pull off, especially since he wasn't entirely sure what the pranksters were planning. But he could do it. 

"I'll be back soon," he murmured to Tahiri, making his way towards the hall's entrance, and Wes and Hobbie. 

He could do it.

* * *

Hobbie glanced sideways at Wes as they strolled nonchalantly across the dance floor and sighed again. He seemed to be doing that a lot lately. 

Wes was carrying a can of paint - orange paint. He was cradling it in his hands, being careful not to let any of it spill out. He had opened it back at the table his holdall was hidden under, explaining that it would be a lot quicker and would allow them to make a faster getaway. 

Things that required them to make a fast getaway were generally bad, Hobbie mused. 

The plan for this last prank of the day was fairly simple, Wes had explained moments earlier. The first part involved locating Kyp and Jaina: the couple were dancing at the edge of the crowd, near the buffet table, with a fair amount of space surrounding them. The second part would be to position themselves in a suitable location in the crowd - near enough to Kyp and Jaina that the paint would be on target, but far enough away that they wouldn't be able to tell who had thrown it. The third part was to throw the paint and then run away before anyone caught them. 

The third part would cause the most problems, undoubtedly. 

"Hey, look." Wes nudged Hobbie in the shoulder, then realised that it wasn't a great thing to be doing when holding a full and open can of paint. He glanced down and let out a sigh of relief when he saw that no paint had spilled out onto the floor - or his shoes. "It's Jag," he continued. "What's he doing?" 

Hobbie watched Jag for a moment, then shrugged. "He seems to be heading this way." 

"Why?" Wes had stopped now, about ten metres away from Kyp and Jaina. Jag was still moving towards them, and he whispered something to Kyp as he passed the couple. 

"I don't know, let me just use my amazing Force powers to read his mind and find out." Hobbie pretended to concentrate for a moment, ignoring Wes's glare. "Oh, wait, that's right," he said after a few seconds. "I don't have any. I guess we'll have to wait until he reaches us." 

"Hey," Jag greeted them quietly as he approached. He took a moment to study the two of them, then nodded at the paint can. "I'll take care of this part if you want." 

Hobbie caught Wes's glance and shrugged. "All right." 

"Wait, why?" Wes asked, suspicion creeping into his voice. 

Jag smiled faintly, reassuringly. "Well, you're right, Tahiri and I owe you one. So if I take care of this part of the prank, then you can't get the blame for it, and we can call it quits. Right?" 

As Wes nodded, Hobbie's own suspicions grew. "So you'll throw paint on Kyp and Jaina." 

Jag nodded. 

"Even though you said earlier that we couldn't play a prank on them." 

Jag waved a hand dismissively. "That was earlier. I realise now that this is the best opportunity to play a prank on them, ever. Who could pass that up?" 

"All right, Fel," Wes agreed. He handed the paint can over to Jag. "You have yourself a deal." 

Jag flashed a rare grin. "Great." 

"Remember," Wes added, "we had no part in this." 

Jag nodded slowly, deliberately. "Of course, no part. You two just make yourselves comfortable by the table. Act casual, and no one will even notice you." 

As he walked away, Hobbie's suspicion and his sense of dread grew stronger. "Are you sure this is a good idea, Wes?" 

"Pfft." Wes shrugged and waved Hobbie over to the buffet table, picking a spot a few metres from Kyp and Jaina - prime viewing position. "I don't know why I didn't think of it myself. He's right: this way, we can't get blamed. We're just innocent bystanders." He winked at Hobbie and helped himself to some food - checking it was real before taking a bite. 

"Hmm. . ." Hobbie couldn't help but be a little wary, still. His gaze followed Jag as the young man found a suitable spot, halfway between themselves and Kyp and Jaina. He supposed Wes had a point - it _would_ be much easier to deny any part in it if they actually didn't have any part in it. . . 

Suddenly, the music softened into a quiet ballad and the lights dimmed. Hobbie frowned and looked up in the direction of the sound system, where the lights were also controlled from. As a single beam of light brightened and focused on something near the buffet table, Hobbie thought he saw a grinning Han Solo standing next to Valin, controlling the light switches. His gaze was drawn to where the light landed, and his dread doubled and landed in his stomach. 

It was on Kyp and Jaina. 

"Perfect!" Wes hissed from beside him. 

Hobbie didn't think it was, somehow. He especially didn't think it was perfect when, a second later, Kyp got down on one knee. 

"Come on, Jag," Wes was whispering excitedly. "Throw the paint _now_!" 

The chatter of the crowd quietened. Hobbie saw Kyp hesitate and glance over at Han, a slightly disbelieving look on his face. Then the younger man shook his head and looked back up at Jaina, whose eyes were wide. "Jaina," he started slowly, then stopped and swallowed. Despite the seriousness of the moment, Hobbie was faintly amused - this was the only time he had ever seen Kyp Durron _nervous_. 

"You're my best friend in the galaxy," Kyp continued. "I love you with everything I am, and I wish - I hope you'll make me the luckiest man in the galaxy." He hesitated again. "What I mean is. . . Jaina Solo - would you marry me?" 

The hall was absolutely silent. Hobbie had never known any of the party guests could actually _be_ silent, but every single one of them had just proven him wrong. Obviously, they had all heard Kyp - he supposed that had been Han's intention. 

A second of this silence passed, and then a grin spread across Jaina's face slowly. "Yes!" she answered happily. "Of course I will. I love you." 

Just before the crowd started cheering, Wes hissed, "_Now!_" again, loud enough for everyone nearby to hear him. Hobbie - and everyone close by - turned to stare at him in disbelief. 

"Wes, you are-" 

Hobbie stopped suddenly; not because anyone interrupted him, not because the music started again - but because a canful of orange paint splattered over the two of them. 

He blinked, twice. The crowd had quietened down once again, and everyone in the hall was staring at them. Hobbie stared back, and glanced at Wes. Wes stood frozen, orange paint trickling from his dark hair and down his face, soaking into his civilian clothes. The crowd's laughter seemed to wake him up, and he spun round to glare at Hobbie. A few milliseconds passed before he realised Hobbie was also covered in paint, and therefore unlikely to be responsible. Then he turned his gaze to the crowd, picking out the culprit instantly. 

Hobbie followed Wes's glare to find Jag standing in the same location as before, holding the now-empty can of paint and grinning triumphantly. He gave them a quick mock-salute, shouted a "Yub yub!" at them and turned, running towards the nearest exit at top speed. 

Hobbie could do nothing but blink.

* * *

A few hours later, the party was drawing to a close. Wes and Hobbie had made use of the building's limited refresher facilities to wash the paint off their faces and out of their hair, but their clothes were definitely ruined. Still, Wes was cheerful once again, assuring people that the whole thing had been staged and that no, someone had not just pulled a successful prank on Wes Janson. Some of the guests believed him; all the others knew at least one Wraith. 

Ben Skywalker had come to them, almost bouncing off the walls with excitement, thanking them for "the bestest most funnest present I got!" 

Mara, when she came to retrieve him, had been far less amused. "If you do something like this again, or even _think_ of encouraging my son to do so, then. . ." She had trailed off, apparently remembering that threats weren't part of the Jedi Code, and settled for glaring at both of them as she pulled Ben away. 

Kyp and Jaina had simply avoided them, but Tahiri had told Wes and Hobbie, when she'd come over to speak to them, that neither of them were particularly happy about the whole thing. Hobbie didn't suppose they would be; he'd be unhappy too if someone had ruined his marriage proposal with a prank. A voice in his head felt like pointing out that Kyp had drawn attention away from Ben's birthday in the first place, but he ignored it. 

But the party was now over, and cleaning droids were ushering people out of the hall, insisting on getting to work right away. The crowd spilled out into the street, laughing and chatting to each other, milling around while waiting for friends and companions to accompany them home. Wes and Hobbie slowly made their way down the stairs from the building's entrance to the crowded street, freezing as Ben's voice cried out above the crowd cheerfully. 

"Look, Mommy! On that wall! It's got Ben's name on it!" 

Wes grinned at Hobbie and he sighed as he looked up, reading their spray-painted message once again. 'Sorry you're a year older, Ben,' it read. 'Unfortunately, old age comes to everyone.' That was all they'd managed to put - the paint had run out after that. Hobbie thought it was a bad enough sign that Wes even _had_ bright green spray paint, never mind that he'd _used_ most of it. He really should try to be less surprised at things like that in future, he realised. 

"Excuse me, ma'am," a sharp voice from somewhere in the street addressed Mara. "Was this you?" 

Mara's voice, when she answered, was colder than a winter's day on Hoth. "I think _not_, officer. You might want to try the double act up there." 

The crowd parted slowly, allowing Wes and Hobbie a clear view of the security team in the middle of the street - and allowing the security team to see _them_. Wes and Hobbie stared at them for a second, and they stared right back, taking in the friends' paint-stained clothes and the holdall Wes carried - which, Hobbie realised too late, was open, the empty cans of spray paint clearly visible. 

Hobbie turned to Wes and looked at him, not bothering to glare. "Today," he began in a tired voice, "has been a very bad day, and now it's about to get worse." 

The security officers were at the top of the stairs now, and started leading the two of them back down to the street and the airspeeder there. "You're under arrest for vandalism," the officer told them grimly. "Anything you say can and will be used as evidence in your prosecution." 

"Prosecution? For spray painting a message?" Hobbie shook his head in disbelief. 

"What if we say it wasn't us?" Wes offered. "Can that be used against us?" 

"Wait, wait," Hobbie warned him. "It might. I _told_ you they had no sense of humour, didn't I?" 

"Yeah, but when did I start listening to you?" Wes shrugged and grinned. "So we're being arrested. No big deal. Wedge'll bail us out. Besides, you know what?" 

Hobbie sighed as they were bundled into the speeder, the crowd's cheering fading to a dull roar as the door slid shut behind them. "What?" 

"It was still astral." 

Hobbie stared at him, blinked, then closed his eyes and let his head fall back against the seat with a thud. "Of course," he murmured. "Astral."

* * *


	5. A wedding? I love weddings!

**Title:** Back Together (5 of 6)   
**Characters:** Wes, Hobbie, Ben, Kyp, Jaina   
**Summary:** Kyp and Jaina are getting married...and they didn't invite Wes and Hobbie! Uh oh.   
**Notes:** This part started off as my first Wes/Hobbie fic last September. Oops. I edited it to be part of BT (...which, y'know, is soooo not Wes/Hobbie, I swear), and it fits in pretty well now. Those who read this story last October will remember that this was the last part, and yet I have put 5 of 6 in the title? Yes. No further comment.   
**Words:** 5771

* * *

"No." 

Wes Janson made a show of sighing in defeat and shaking his head, but he continued to stand resolutely in Hobbie Klivian's doorway, preventing his friend from shutting the door. "I suppose I'll have to forget about the drink, then, and the great music, and just spend the night all alone watching holovids in my quarters." 

Hobbie narrowed his eyes at Wes. "I said no. And no matter how many times you ask, or how often you repeat this 'pity me' spiel, I am _not_ going to relent. No is no." 

"You're such a party pooper, Hobbie." Wes sighed again, and shifted to lean against the doorjamb - still not allowing Hobbie to close the door at all. "We _have_ to go. Everyone will be bored without us there." 

"I'm sure Durron and Solo will _not_ appreciate your _or_ my presence. I wasn't invited, and I doubt you were, either." 

"The Durrons," Wes corrected Hobbie. "And no, I wasn't, but that's what makes it even more _fun_!" 

Hobbie just looked at him, then shook his head. "I know what you're planning, Wes, and I refuse to be linked to one of your crazy schemes yet again." 

"But this is a _classic_." 

"Classic failure, you mean." 

Wes rolled his eyes. "Ever the optimist, Hobbie." Then he grinned. "Come on. It'll be _fun_. We haven't had a chance to annoy everyone in so long!" 

"A month. And for some reason, I think that's why we weren't invited." 

Wes waved a hand dismissively. "If you're talking about the incident at Ben Skywalker's birthday, I had that _totally_ under control, it was all Jag's fault it went wrong, and I'm _sure_ they'll have forgotten about it by now anyway." 

"Hopelessly optimistic." 

"Someone has to be." 

Hobbie shook his head again, but Wes detected an amused lift at the corner of his frown, a twinkle in his eye that meant he would relent soon. He always did in the end. "I'm not crashing a wedding reception, Wes." 

"Oh, come _on_. Solo-Skywalker? They _expect_ to be gate-crashed, at _least_ once per party." 

The corner of Hobbie's mouth twitched again; a sure sign that any argument now was mostly for show. "Don't we count for at least double the usual distraction, though?" 

"Yeah, well, I hear that Hapan wedding was boringly uneventful, so the Solos are due two lots of distraction." 

"Which you'll gladly provide, I assume?" 

"Which _we_ will gladly provide, Hobbie," Wes corrected, grinning again. "So grab your jacket and let's _go_ already, before the party's over." 

Hobbie hesitated, and Wes knew he was trying - futilely - to convince himself not to do so. But after a moment, he let out a sigh, accompanied by a rueful smile. "Why is it I can't ever seem to say no to you?" 

"Cause I'm great at persuasion." As soon as Hobbie had his jacket half-on, the sleeves to his elbows, Wes grabbed his arm and pulled him out into the corridor, ignoring the _whoosh_ of the door shutting behind them. "And you know my ideas _always_ make sense." 

Hobbie shrugged into his jacket, pulling the zipper halfway up, and frowned as Wes pulled him down the corridor towards the turbolift. "So long as sense is relative, then sure." 

"Relative to what?" 

"Well, they're better than...no, wait, they just don't make sense at all." 

Wes released Hobbie's arm and used the free hand to hit him on the shoulder. "Thanks, my _friend_." 

"Welcome, as always." Hobbie smirked at him, and Wes grinned at the expression. 

"Come on then. We have a couple equipment recons to carry out before the mission." 

"Equipment recons." 

Wes flashed a grin, something dangerous glinting in his eyes. "Got to have the right equipment for gate-crashing a _wedding_, after all." 

A half-second passed, then Hobbie blinked and nodded thoughtfully. "Yes, I was wondering when that feeling of dread would settle in my stomach. Can't have a night out with Wes Janson without a certain amount of dread." 

"That's the spirit, Hobbie," Wes replied, leaning against the closed turbolift door as it descended the apartment building. "That's the spirit."

* * *

"You're the bouncer?" 

"I'm the bouncer." 

Wes studied Corran Horn carefully for a moment, then looked from side to side as if for a sign to tell him it was a joke. No sign. "At Kyp Durron's wedding?" 

Corran looked back at him steadily. "At Jaina Solo's wedding." 

Wes nodded and glanced sideways at Hobbie, who shrugged. Mimicking the action, Wes turned back to Corran and said, "OK, so, can we go in now?" 

Corran made a show of looking through the guest list he was holding, then sighed dramatically. "Sorry, guys," he said, his tone far too apologetic to be genuine, "but you're not on this list." 

"A mere oversight," Wes assured him, waving a hand at the list dismissively. "Now let us in." 

"No can do, I'm afraid," Corran said in that same apologetic tone, a slight smirk on his face. "I was specifically told to let those on the list into the club, and _only_ those on the list." 

"Corran, I'm seeing a problem here." Wes pointed to the door behind Corran. "In there is a party, and-" He spread his hands to indicate himself and Hobbie. "-out here is us. The two belong in a symbiotic relationship; you simply _cannot_ have a party without us. To keep us out here would be to defy physics." 

Corran shrugged. "And that would be new?" 

"Corran," Hobbie started, his tone low and urgent, "if you don't let us in, then I'm going to be stuck, all night, with a very annoyed Wes Janson. I know you don't hate me that much." 

Wes glared at him, a mock-hurt expression on his face. "I love you too, Hobbie." 

Corran rolled his eyes. "Fine, maybe I can convince the bouncer's wife to distract him for a few moments, so you can sneak inside. But," he added, pointing to the holdall that Wes was carrying - the same bag he'd had at Ben's party, "not with that." 

Wes forced his face into an innocent expression; something he had a lot of practice with. "It's just some extra Corellian ale, and the like. With all the wretched folk you have in there, I figured you'd be running out." 

Corran's eyes narrowed, and flickered to Hobbie, who had copied Wes's innocent expression. "Right," he said finally. "I will accept that story, will ask no further questions, and will not be linked in any way to your presence at this party." 

Wes grinned and gave Corran a quick, casual salute. "Very good, Corran. You know it makes sense." 

Corran just rolled his eyes and, when Mirax wandered to the door to see what was going on, allowed himself to get distracted as promised. Wes grinned again and grabbed Hobbie's arm to drag him inside the club; a rather unnecessary action, since Hobbie was already making his way in. Once inside, Wes shrugged the holdall strap off his shoulder, carefully placed it on the ground beside him, and leaned nonchalantly back against the wall, a few feet from the door. Hobbie leaned beside him, trying to appear casual also. 

Wes looked round the club thoughtfully, eyes resting on anything that looked remotely like a good target. The hall they were in was quite large: it had a stage at the other side, opposite the door, where Valin was once again acting as DJ; a large, crowded dancefloor, thrown into a contrast of dusty darkness and sparkling brightness by the fancy lights hanging from the ceiling; tables and chair scattered haphazardly around the edges of the hall, with only a small clearing from the doorway to the dancefloor; and hundreds, _hundreds_ of people, chatting and laughing and mixing and dancing to the beat of music that was as intoxicating as the alcohol in their glasses. 

"Whoa," Hobbie breathed from beside Wes. "This many people, and they didn't invite us? We obviously did something _very_ wrong." 

Wes waved a hand dismissively. "Ah, it's just a few dozen. Lighting makes it look like more." He looked round the hall again, this time concentrating on specific guests. To the right, in a fairly dark corner, someone had pushed two of the tables together, and ten or so people were crowded around it, drinking and playing sabacc. Very familiar-looking people. 

Storing the game in his memory, Wes continued his scan of the hall, noting Han and Leia Solo sitting at the edge of the dancefloor, and Luke and Mara Jade Skywalker apparently searching for something and pushing through the crowds to find it. He could just about see Jacen Solo, dancing with Queen Mother Tenel Ka nearer the edge of the crowd, seeming quite uncomfortable surrounded by so many people. On the left side of the hall, laughing at a table floating a few inches above the ground, was six-year-old Ben Skywalker - with a fair amount of clear space around him. And, just a little further up from there, was the buffet table, which Jag Fel and Tahiri Veila had obviously decided to defend from an attack, judging by the way they were staying resolutely beside it. 

That was inconvenient. 

"OK," he said eventually, turning to Hobbie, and pointing to the sabacc game in the corner. "First, we have to unsettle them, but not make ourselves known to them." 

"Well, bang goes the easy way of unsettling them." 

Ignoring Hobbie's remark, Wes crouched on the floor beside the holdall, and unzipped it. There were indeed a few bottles of alcohol - Corellian fire-whisky, a few Taanabian fruity concoctions - but the rest of the bag's space was taken up by a few more sundry items. A few cans of an interesting gooey spray substance Wes had discovered in a toy store the previous week, a large, folded flimsiplast banner with a message written on it, a microphone and comlink that had been altered to broadcast over the most common of sound system frequencies - and, taking up most of the space, a stuffed Ewok, its fur worn and matted with age. 

"Hobbie," Wes said suddenly, his attention once again on the left side of the hall. "Go intercept little Ben before his parents do, and bring him here. We could use his help. I'll take care of the sabacc game." 

Hobbie stared at him dubiously for a moment, and Wes gave him his most reassuring grin. A second passed, then Hobbie shrugged. "All right. You just try not to get caught, whatever you're doing." 

"Me, caught?" Wes widened his eyes in disbelief. "I _never_ get caught!" 

Hobbie didn't reply to that; just raised an eyebrow cynically. 

Wes grinned again as Hobbie set off across the hall, sneaking round the tables to avoid attention from any Solo-Skywalkers. He looked through the bag again, and pulled out one of the cans of goo. Zipping the holdall up and storing it in the corner, he stayed in a crouch, creeping towards the sabacc game. As he approached, he heard snatches of conversation from the table. 

". . . manage to keep them out, anyway?" Wedge Antilles' voice asked, a note of suspicion in it. 

"Weren't on the guest list," Tycho Celchu's voice answered, and as Wes glanced up, he saw the blond man shrug. "Winter was in charge of invitations. She was going to add them anyway, but I told her they must have been left off for a reason." 

"Hm," was the only reply Wedge offered. 

"Well, gentlebeings," Talon Karrde interrupted, "I hope you've been making use of the free nature of the alcohol, because I'm raising these stakes by a hundred." 

Wes checked the can in his hand and pulled off the wrapping, making sure the nozzle was fixed on but unsealed. 

"Two hundred," came Lando Calrissian's voice, followed by the _clink_ of credit chips. 

The instructions told Wes to shake the can, and aim about a metre from his target; he did so. 

"I'm folding," Kell Tainer said. 

Wes steadied himself, leaning a hand on the floor to help him move away quickly. 

"Me, too," said Gavin Darklighter. "Can't compete with you professionals." 

With one last glance at the can, Wes aimed it and squeezed the spray button. 

"Two-fif-" Booster Terrik's voice was cut off as a neon green strand of what could only be described as _goo_ shot into his mouth. The fast-moving substance trailed round the table, catching Wedge's nose, Tycho's chin, Lando's sabacc cards, the various glasses of alcohol - nothing, in the brief milliseconds of attack, escaped the goo. And then it stopped suddenly, and there was silence in the corner of the hall, broken only by a soft, swift padding of something crawling across the floor at top speed. 

Wes heard swearing and indignant shouts from the table, and as he approached his holdall, he staggered to his feet and grabbed it, darting in amongst the crowd, hoping desperately that no one from the table saw who exactly had sprayed the substance. He seemed to be in luck - as he ran past a very startled Hobbie and laughing Ben Skywalker, the swearing faded into the distance, suggesting that no one had bothered to search for the culprit for too long. 

A few metres from the buffet table - and Jag and Tahiri - Wes collapsed into an empty chair, quickly shifting it so it was blocked from the dancefloor by one of the supporting columns of the building. As Hobbie and Ben warily approached him, he took a moment to study the hall from this new vantage point, noting the locations of everything from this particular position. 

The buffet table, of course, was mere metres away, but still guarded fiercely. Thankfully, neither Jag nor Tahiri seemed to have noticed Wes. He now viewed the stage at an angle, and saw the supports above it, which the speakers, lights and cameras were fixed onto. Out on the dancefloor, he could no longer see Jacen and Tenel Ka, but he _could_ see Kyp Durron and Jaina Solo - Solo _Durron_, he corrected himself - dancing together close to the stage, on the near side of the dancefloor. Wes shifted his chair a little more, making sure it would definitely be blocked by the column - it would _not_ do for the newlyweds to spot him so early on. 

"Plan revision?" Hobbie asked casually, falling into the chair beside Wes's. 

"Minor," Wes admitted. "Base of operations is now here, which I estimate is about as far away from Wedge as we can get." 

Hobbie glanced across the hall to the sabacc game. "Probably not far enough, though." 

"Wessie!" 

Wes blinked and looked round, then down. Yes; there, just climbing into the chair on the other side of him, was Ben Skywalker, his blue eyes bright and cheerful, his red-gold hair uncombed and scruffy. "Hey there, Ben. Ready to help your uncle Wes with a plan?" 

The boy scratched at the side of his head absently, apparently considering it. "Daddy said I should stay away from Wes and Hobbie. . . He said you're bad infu- infru- fluey-" 

"Influences?" Hobbie supplied. 

Ben nodded fiercely. "Influ-ansies. But I think Wes and Hobbie are _funny_." 

Wes grinned. "Of course we are!" 

Ben nodded again, grinning too. "'Specially when Jaggie threw paint and it went all _over_ Wes and Hobbie and the food!" 

Wes's grin slipped, and he glanced over at the buffet table. "Yeah, who'd have thought such an ace pilot could have such a bad throw?" 

"Makes you think he wasn't actually aiming for Kyp and Jaina at all," Hobbie added darkly. 

"It made my lifeday party _great_," Ben continued cheerfully. "Are you makin' Kyppie and Jaina's party great too, yeah?" 

"That's what we're here to do," Wes confirmed, turning his gaze back to Ben. "So, kid. You in?" 

"Course! It's gonna be _fun_." 

"OK, good." Wes took a moment to think things through, then nodded to himself. "You and Hobbie stay here and set up. Hobbie, you need Kettch, the microphone, and the banner - I think you know what to do." He raked through the holdall, taking the modified comlink and attaching it to his belt, then pulled out the Taanabian beverage and the bottle of fire-whisky. "Ben, you just use your fancy powers when Hobbie tells you to, and-" Wes handed him the goo spray. "-use that to distract Jag and Tahiri, when I signal you." 

Ben held onto the can tightly and nodded seriously, eyes wide. "I can help _good_, Wes. Force maybe with you!" 

"Uh. . . Right." Wes saluted the boy, grinning at the childish way it was returned. "Force maybe with you too, Ben." 

Wes approached the table carefully, keeping low to the ground to avoid being seen. Jag and Tahiri were leaning against the centre of the table, at ninety degrees or so from Wes's position at the end. Tahiri was staring off into the crowd on the dancefloor - possibly at Kyp and Jaina - with a wistful smile on her face; Jag was staring at her, with the same kind of smile on _his_ face. It made Wes sick, and he scowled. 

The two were chatting idly, their attention mostly fixed on each other, and Wes took a deep breath and stood up, clutching the bottles of alcohol he held. He glanced over at Hobbie, who shrugged, and then turned to Ben. The small boy was practically vibrating with excitement, grasping the can of gooey spray in his hands tightly. Wes nodded at him, then waved the bottle of fire-whisky towards the crowd, and Ben seemed to understand. With a return nod, he let out a squeal of pleasure and ran towards Jag and Tahiri. 

Wes watched as the boy sprayed electric blue goo on the couple, giggled, then turned into the crowd to find Kyp and Jaina and do the same - knowing full well that Jag and Tahiri would follow him, trying to exact revenge. Wes grinned to himself; the boy was smart. 

He forced his attention back to the table, moving forward a few steps again, then stopped. He placed both bottles down on the covered table, being careful not to make the durasteel surface _clunk_, and grabbed a disposable cup from a conveniently-located pile. He poured himself some of the red juice in the nearest jug, tasted a sip, and grimaced. Yes, it definitely needed some modifications. 

He took a moment to study the various jugs on the table, deciding which should have which substance added. The blue milk definitely needed some fire-whisky to spice up its too-mellow taste; the fruit juice, too, would need fire-whisky. The water, therefore, would get the Taanabian concoction, as would the beverage that Wes was unable to identify - something green. 

When the drinks were appropriately mixed, Wes hid the bottles under the table, making sure the white cloth covered them, and looked up. The dancefloor was a riot, with shouts - and giggles, definitely six-year-old in nature - from somewhere nearer to Wes than he would have liked. It seemed it was time to move on to the next phase of his plan. 

Glancing up, Wes waved quickly at Hobbie, and held up three fingers to indicate it was time for the third stage. Hobbie squinted, a confused expression on his face, then shrugged and turned back to the table, which Wes couldn't quite see - blocked, as it was, by the supporting column. But if he knew Hobbie - and he liked to think he did, rather well in fact - then he would be fulfilling his part of the plan. He would moan and whine and complain whilst doing so, but he would do it, and Wes knew he really would enjoy it as much as himself. He always did. 

Silently, Wes moved away from the table and towards the edge of the raised stage, checking the modified comlink was still attached to his belt. Thankfully, the door for the backstage area was level with the dancefloor, rather than on the stage in clear view of everything and everyone, so Wes slipped through it unnoticed, and sighed with relief when the music was reduced to a mere whisper. 

There was also a nicely-placed ladder up to the roof, where the support struts and platform were. Not that Wes would have _minded_ terribly if he'd had to climb, but, well, this was infinitely preferable. He was able to reach the ceiling and sit on the edge of the platform with relative ease, pausing for a moment before he stood, balancing precariously. With one hand bracing himself against the ceiling for support, he slowly made his way out into the main stage area, right above the sound system's speakers, and sat on the edge of the narrow platform. 

From this position, he could see the entire hall. To his right was the table that Hobbie had finished setting up, to his left and further out were the two tables where the sabacc game was still being held, and right in front of him was a lost-looking Luke Skywalker. Looking back at Hobbie, Wes saw Ben standing there gleefully, apparently out of sight of his father and the other people searching for him. Yes; a _very_ smart boy. 

Hobbie looked up at that moment, catching his eye, and Wes noted ruefully that he wasn't at all surprised to see his friend sitting amongst the support struts above a stage in a strange club. He simply mouthed a one-word question: _Now?_ To which Wes flashed a grin and nodded, giving him a thumbs up. As Hobbie turned to Ben, Wes unclipped the comlink from his belt, took a deep breath, and activated it. 

Immediately, the music was replaced by white noise, and Wes vaguely saw Valin panic and start hitting switches, to no avail. The system was under Wes's command now. The crowd fell silent too, and they all turned to stare at the stage; one person - Wes thought it was Jacen Solo, though he wasn't sure from this distance - looked up and saw him, but merely grinned, not drawing attention to the prankster's presence. Grateful, Wes nodded and turned his attention back to Hobbie, Ben, and the table. 

Taped to the wall above the table was the banner Wes had prepared earlier; a bright, eye-catching creation with a message reading _Yub yub, Kyp and Jaina Durron. Welcome to the rest of your pitiful lives._ The table itself was fairly unremarkable - one of the plasteel chairs was fixed to the centre of it, a stuffed Ewok taped into it, a microphone clearly visible on its chest. _Fairly_ unremarkable, apart from the small, insignificant fact that it was floating a foot and a half above the ground, thanks to the powers of a giggling Ben Skywalker. 

Wes held the comlink to his mouth and cleared his throat, noting that everyone's attention was now fixed on the floating table. "Ladies and gentlebeings," he said, trying his best to imitate the short, high-pitched tone of an Ewok. "I would like to make a toast." 

Before Wes could continue, he was interrupted by a loud cry; Wedge, from the far side of the hall, had seen the table and its Ewok occupant. "What the _Sith_ has Janson done _now_?" 

"To all the couples in this room," Wes continued, ignoring Wedge's outburst. "To the young ones, to the old ones, and to the downright ancient ones." Here he grinned and glanced at Wedge, before remembering that Wedge couldn't see him. "Because this is, I have been led to believe, a day for couples. For one couple in particular, two young humans - one young, and one not-so-young, I mean-" He noticed Kyp scowl at that, and grinned again. "-who, I think, despite the sickness their mushiness causes so often, everyone is very glad to celebrate a union between today. They're both annoying, they're both too smart for their own good, and they're both amusingly gullible - please, everybody, raise your bottles and glasses to Kyp and Jaina Durron, and may they always be annoying, smart and gullible." 

He knew that his fake voice had slipped halfway through the short speech, and he knew that almost everyone present knew this was his work - even if they didn't know where he was located - but Wes was almost surprised to find that he meant every word. The good words, that is. Throughout the two years or so of mock war, of prank-playing and insult-throwing, he had definitely grown fond of both of them. They were not-quite-friends, or friends who wouldn't admit to the friendship, but it was there. A certain camaraderie had grown between the couple, and Wes and Hobbie, and Wes loved every bit of it. "To the jokes and pranks of the past," he added after a short pause, before everyone could start buzzing about the toast, "and to the fun in the future. Kyp, Jaina - Mr and Mrs Durron - I, Major Kettch, salute you and wish you all the best in future. Luck in your own lives, and luck getting your own back against Wes and Hobbie at some point. May the Force be with you." 

There was brief hushed silence, a pause where Wes suddenly doubted his actions - was the prank maybe a little _too_ unsuitable for a wedding reception? - and then an eruption of applause, of laughter and appreciative whistling, of shouts and cheers, and Wes grinned. He saw Ben's parents finally reach the boy, and the table as it clattered to the ground; he saw Jag and Tahiri, covered from head to toe in blue goo, but still grinning their heads off; and he saw Kyp and Jaina smiling up at him, having spotted him after all. He raised a hand in salute, using the other - still holding the comlink - to wave, and experienced a half-second of exhilaration, a brief interlude before the unsettling sensation of a freefall. 

Then there was the stage, a few inches from his head; enough time to realise what was happening, to swear and shout and grab at nothing, before impact. Then, darkness.

* * *

"Uh. . ." 

Someone was pounding on Wes's door, a regular beat that was like a tattoo in his head. Probably Wedge, to tell him he was late for a mission. No, wait, Wedge wasn't his commander anymore. In fact, he didn't _have_ a commander, he _was_ a commander. So who was pounding on his door? 

Consciousness drifted in and out of reach, a spark of something that promised pain, but also light and knowledge. Knowledge was addictive, so Wes grasped for it, gasping as he opened his eyes and realised that the pounding was _inside_ his head, not on the door to his quarters. This was also proven by the fact that he wasn't _in_ his quarters; the room was entirely too neat and tidy for that. 

"Wes?" 

"Ow, Sithspit, Hobbie! Do you need to be so loud?" 

"Wes, I'm whispering." 

"Stop shouting! Sith, my head hurts. . ." Wes blinked a few times and raised his head slightly, wincing at the pain this caused. He looked right, seeing nothing but plain painted wall, then looked left, jolting at the sight of Hobbie's worried face so close to his own. The jolt caused even more pain, and he shut his eyes again. "What the _hell_ kind of night did I have last night? I feel like I've drunk every drop of alcohol in Han Solo's apartment." 

"Actually, you were fairly sober tonight, for once. Don't you remember what happened?" 

"It resulted in me being in a medical wing; I'm not sure I _want_ to know." 

Hobbie sighed patiently. "You better remember what happened; no one _else_ is going to forget." 

"Wait, wait, I'm getting snatches. . . something about a wedding reception." Wes opened his eyes again and stared at Hobbie. "Tell me I didn't climb into the ceiling of a stage and fall almost ten metres into durasteel." 

"You didn't climb into the ceiling of a stage and fall ten metres to durasteel." 

"You're lying." 

Hobbie shrugged, a rueful lift to his frown. "You told me to." 

Wes shifted back against his pillow, in a half-sitting, half-lying back position, and rubbed the back of his head with his right hand. "How long have I been in here?" 

Hobbie shook his head distractedly and glanced up at the chrono on the wall. "Um, only about three hours. It's oh-one-hundred hours just now." 

"So the party's finished?" Wes was disappointed. He'd wanted to be there to see how unwittingly drunk everyone had gotten from the spiked juice and milk. 

Hobbie shrugged, a slight rueful smile on his face; strange, thought Wes. "Actually, it finished with a spectacular bang when you knocked yourself out. Kyp and Jaina are waiting out there-" He pointed vaguely in the direction of the room's door. "-to see if you're all right." 

Wes groaned. "So what you're saying is that because I was an idiot and tried to catch up to your record of bacta usage, I managed to _totally_ ruin their wedding night?" 

Hobbie opened his mouth to argue, closed it again, then shrugged. "Pretty much." 

Wes leaned back against the pillows, waving a hand at the door vaguely. "Go tell them I'm fine, and to go away and spend what's left of the night generally acting like newlyweds." 

Hobbie nodded. "I'll go tell them you're all right," he said, ignoring the rest of Wes's instruction. 

Wes heard a clatter of feet on plasteel-lined floor as Hobbie opened the door to the corridor. A hushed voice - Jaina's - asked, "What's wrong? Is he OK?" 

Hobbie left the door propped open against his foot as he leaned out into the corridor, answering, "Sure. He'll be fine, until I tell him about the med bill." 

"I'm not paying a credit," Wes insisted loudly enough for Kyp and Jaina to hear him, too. "I got hurt in the line of duty; comes under insurance." 

"You're a piece of Sithspawn, Janson," Kyp called back good-naturedly. 

"No worse than you, Durron. Oh, better start distinguishing between you," Wes mused. "You're Durron One, then, and your darling wife is Durron Two." 

Jaina's head appeared from around Hobbie to glare at Wes, the effect of which was not aided by the grin on her face. "I think you'll find _I'm_ Lead, Janson." 

"You _wish_, Goddess," Kyp said, his own head appearing above Jaina's. He leaned down and kissed her hair, then grinned. "I'll _always_ be Durron Lead." 

"You'd like to think so, huh?" 

"Arguing like kids," Hobbie sighed, shaking his head. 

"Speaking of which," Wes added, "you two get away and start making little Durron Three." 

Jaina tilted her head a little to the side, studying him for a second. "You sure you're OK, Wes? That really was one spectacular fall." 

"Sure I'm OK, now get the hell out of my room before I start charging you rent." 

Jaina stuck her tongue out at him and looked like she might stay, just to defy him, but she squealed when Kyp picked her up from behind. "Come _on_, Jay. Normally I wouldn't pay the slightest bit of attention to Wes, but he really is making sense now." 

"All right then," she conceded, a giggle in her voice. "Let's go. Wes, tell us if you get any worse." 

"Not a chance." 

"Hobbie, tell us if he gets any worse." 

Hobbie simply shrugged, grinning ruefully, and waved as Kyp carried Jaina down the corridor and away. When they were out of sight, he turned back into the room, and Wes grinned. "Just you and me now then, Hobbie." 

"Oh gods." 

"Come on," Wes said, sitting up tentatively. It didn't hurt too much, so he carefully shifted his legs to hang over the side, and eased up onto them. Still didn't hurt too much. "Nothing broken. Good. Come on," he repeated, taking a step towards the door. He glanced down and frowned at his plain medbay-style outfit. "Where are my clothes?" 

"Wes, get back in bed. The medics said you had to stay in until at least morning." Hobbie frowned and stepped away from the door, into the room, and it slid shut behind him. 

"Not a chance," Wes said decisively. "Anyway, it _is_ morning. Let's get out of here; gotta be a bar open somewhere." 

"No." 

"Yes." 

"No." 

"Yes." 

"Yes." 

"No- Sithspit, Hobbie, I _hate_ it when you do that!" Wes looked round the room and finally located his clothes, dumped in a pile on a small table hidden amongst the medical equipment. "We're getting out of here, and that's final. Stang," he said as he picked up his clothes, scowling. "Don't these medics know how to fold anything?" 

"_I_ put your clothes there." 

"That explains it. I _know_ you don't know how to fold anything." Glancing round for a screen and not finding one, Wes shrugged and quickly changed anyway, piling the discard medbay outfit on the bed. He turned round and grinned at Hobbie. "Well? Let's _go_." 

Hobbie shook his head, but the wry half-smile on his face told Wes it was out of disbelief, not to indicate a negative answer. "Wes Janson, you have, a mere three hours ago, fallen-" 

"I jumped. It was intentional. Nothing I do is by accident." 

"-ten metres into durasteel, broken your nose-" 

"So that's why my face hurts." 

"-possibly given yourself concussion-" 

"That would explain the headache." 

"-and only survived thanks to the quick thinking of both Durrons, who, being the only people to actually see you up above the stage, managed to slow your fall using the Force-" 

"Remind me to buy them a decent wedding present later." 

"-and you want to go out _drinking_?" 

Wes stared blankly at Hobbie. "I thought that much would be obvious to _you_, Hobbie." 

"And sadly," Hobbie admitted, sighing with defeat, "it is. All right. But I'm not going to be the one explaining to the medics in the morning why you've suddenly disappeared." 

Wes frowned thoughtfully, then spent a second rearranging the clothes on top of the bed, and pulled the blanket over them. "There. They'll think I turned Jedi, died, and faded away." 

Hobbie nodded. "Sure. The youngest apprentice medic might fall for it for an entire second. Wes, you're a genius." 

Wes bowed dramatically. "Thank you; I know. So let's get _out_ of here, find out what bar everyone else is in, and get drunk." 

And they did.

* * *


End file.
